


F&tGM06—Where the Wind Blows

by VST



Series: VST's Fafhrd & the Gray Mouser Series [6]
Category: Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser - Fritz Leiber
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-16
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:08:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 24,315
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25937167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VST/pseuds/VST
Summary: A new series of loosely connected one-shots!#1:  Escapes—Escaping from the City of Sarheenmar in their stolen vessel, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser dodge pursuers, pirates, storms, and old memories in search of new adventures.#2:  Weighty Matters—Fafhrd awakes to find himself at the mercy of a powerful being. Fantasy/humor.#3:  Hunger—Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser are trapped on their little ship far from shore with supplies running desperately low.#4: Aftermath—Following a battle at sea, the boys find their ship badly damaged and a place for repairs hard to come by.#5: Sorcery at Smarndon Strait—Our heroes must agree to assist a wizard in order to get their ship fixed. Of course, wizards themselves are always big problems; one is bad enough but when two are involved, careful planning sometimes goes right out the window.#6: The Man at the Table—When Mouser is accused of being the infamous Gray Mouser, to what lengths will he go to avoid being caught? Or was it the Gray Mouser at all?
Series: VST's Fafhrd & the Gray Mouser Series [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/849582
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Story #1:  Escapes

**Author's Note:**

> _"Story #1: Escapes" was my entry in the Caesar's Palace Monthly Oneshot Contest for August 2018._
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written totally for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of Fafhrd, the Gray Mouser, and world of Nehwon is entirely my own. They remain the property of their respective owners._
> 
> _Author's Note: I'm continuing to slowly post my stories here at AO3. This story picks up a short time after the end of the "flashback" portion of "F &tGM05—For the Greater Good," when the boys would have been around 30 years old. Fans of Fafhrd & the Gray Mouser may wish to read that story prior to reading this one._

It had been a leisurely month, but the month was over and so was the Sarheenmarian king's indulgence.

Rather than stay until morning and face his wrath, the owners of a small ship slipped out of the harbor with the late evening tide. In a matter of hours, the two labored to change the ship's appearance, transforming it, to the extent possible in the time available, with different paint, sails, rigging, figurehead, and name, as had been prepared even before their initial arrival.

The pair themselves had also undergone a transformation, with both taking on their usual appearance, a somewhat different look than they had sported during their time in the city. It was almost morning when the pair finally started to relax, having, with a favorable wind, put many miles between themselves and the angry monarch. While both were tired from their efforts, neither was sleepy.

The relative quiet of the Inner Sea—the sound of waves, the prow of the little ship cutting through the water, the occasional slap of a line or the flap of a sail, the light mechanical rasp of the iron-shod tiller in the oiled oarlock, the sound of a swig from a jug—was broken by Fafhrd's question: "Cat got your tongue?"

With his fingers laced behind his head and lying prone on the deck, the Gray Mouser was lost in contemplative thought as he stared up at the countless stars in the cloudless, moonless sky above. Fafhrd's question brought his thoughts back down to Nehwon and the troubles the friends were—hopefully—leaving behind. He waved a hand in acknowledgment to the question before returning his hand behind his head, but said nothing in reply.

"You're thinking of her, aren't you? The blon—"

"No, not at all," came Mouser's urgent interruption, as if purposefully avoiding the suggested thought. "Nor of Ivrian or any of the others since. No, my thoughts were centered on long ago and far away. We spent over a month in that city, but I didn't see anything that brought back any memories. Not one thing."

"What do you mean?"

"Mokker, the Prince of Pimps, or maybe one of his many women—I don't remember which—once told me that, based on the origins of the slave caravan that they thought brought me to Lankhmar, I might have originally been born in Tovilyis...or, perhaps, Sarheenmar."

In the darkness of the night, Fafhrd's eyes narrowed and he took another drink from his jug. "Ah. So your excursions into the city really weren't to seek to wine and women?"

"Well...not entirely." Mouser rose from the deck and moved to the rail, looking out over the star-lit sea. He accepted the jug Fafhrd offered, took a drink, and continued, "There was that...and games of chance...and a few fat purses that needed relieving."

Fafhrd chuckled softly. "Of course. But you were primarily looking for anything that might look familiar? For any signs of your past?"

Bracketed by the stars, Mouser's silhouette nodded. "Anything, but finding nothing at all. Not one thing looked even vaguely familiar beyond the small part I saw, quite briefly, some years ago when passing through on the way to the Shadowland. If it was the point of my origin, I'll never know."

"You've rarely spoken of your roots or even much about your childhood. Is it important to you now?"

"I don't know if important is the right term. I was there and I thought about the possibilities of discovering more about my background to take my mind off other things."

It was Fafhrd's turn to nod. "Considering what—no, who—that other thought was about, that is quite understandable. Do we need to go south to Tovilyis to do the same? To see if any sights there trigger memories or stir your soul?"

Mouser's eyes searched the distant horizon, where the stars fell away into the sea. He seemed lost in thought as he took another swig and dropped the jug down to his side.

It was Fafhrd's turn to remain silent as he slowly moved the tiller to-and-fro to keep the boat on course. He'd known Mouser long enough to know that the little man would loose his tongue and free his thoughts in his own time. It wasn't long before his patience was rewarded, both with Mouser's reply and the return of his jug.

"No, no need to venture so far. Whether the slavers obtained me in Sarheenmar, Tovilyis, or the gods only know where else, the caravan or luck brought me to Lankhmar, my home and those who became my family. I was little when Mokker bought me and put me in the care of his women."

"Little, eh?" teased Fafhrd. "So were you six months, six years, or sixteen, little man?"

Mouser laughed. "Let's say 'a little tot.' Mokker told me I was probably about three when he purchased me from the curiosity dealers, and that it was even possible they'd bought or stolen me off of the streets of Lankhmar. They were known to do that at times."

"What do you mean? Curiosity dealers?" asked the barbarian. "I'm not familiar with that trade in Lankhmar beyond the sellers of trinkets and such, who try to build interest in their wares by using fancy names. Surely, traders of such goods wouldn't deal in children, too?"

"I'm sure most would not, but these two didn't deal in trinkets. Instead, they sold children to those who wanted to indulge in certain cruel 'pleasures.' This was bad enough but those that didn't sell were put to other pursuits. These were...scarred, disfigured...maimed...and sold to circuses and traveling shows as oddities for their side shows. Morbid curiosity and horror of horrors were their selling points, but the true horror was what became of those forced into that life."

"I'm sorry," said Fafhrd, feeling ill at the thought. While he could kill almost without thought when needed, deliberately harming children was beyond the realm of his imagination. "Who would do such a thing? And do it to a young child?"

"Two cruel, foul masters by the names of Yusk and Shish. I wouldn't remember their names at all but Mokker told me some years later when I inquired of him. I was almost ten years of age at the time when I learned their names and their true natures."

Fafhrd rubbed his beard slowly. "I can't say I recall hearing those names in Lankhmar. Are they still in business?"

"No, they departed for other climes right about the time I turned ten. Their business was shut down rather abruptly and their last children were freed. Most of those that survived are beggars now, but some have adapted to other walks of life. Whichever way they went, they had a rough path to tread."

Fafhrd felt his blood beginning to boil as Mouser continued to tell the horrid tales of a few of the unfortunates. Hands became flippers, a nose becamed gilled, and ears were partially amputated and sewn into fin-like protusions; the oddity of a fish-boy was 'born.' His other examples were even worse. The little man's voice trailed off when he was done.

Choosing a course, Fafhrd asked, conspiratorially, "This Yusk and his partner—do you know where they went? I wonder if we might like to pay them a visit to repay even a modest portion of their cruelty."

In the first light of the new day, Fafhrd saw a lone cloud on the horizon to the northeast and that Mouser's mouth was set in a hard, thin line before the little man spoke. "Where they went, my friend, we would not wish to follow. As for their cruelty, a small part, or more, was repaid them before their...journey." When he was done, a curiously cruel but satisfied smile settled on Mouser's face. With the silence lengthening, Fafhrd was about to change to another subject but Mouser spoke again.

"I was one of the lucky ones. While there was little normal about my childhood growing up as I did on Whore Street, Mokker gave me a birthdate so I could feel at least a bit like a normal child on one special day each year. His women raised me, teaching me various and sundry useful skills from an early age. The cats, then, were my playmates, hunting companions, and only true friends."

"A guess: the prince of pimps' women—hmmm, whores?—taught you cooking, cleaning, and laundry?" suggested Fafhrd with a laugh as he handed the jug back to his friend.

"Well, those, too. Eventually," grinned Mouser before taking another swig. "Mokker himself was, I suppose, my father figure; he took on most of the rest of my training in weapons, thievery, and tricks and trades. I became his right-hand man, but then I met the great Glavas Rho and turned to a life of sorcery. At least for a while."

Fafhrd's face fell for a moment, for he knew well of the death of Mouser's master and how his friend's training in the sorcerous arts had been abruptly ended. "When you apprenticed with your hedge wizard, you were ready to move on to a better life?"

"Yes, perhaps. Different and more focused on what I thought were my goals, anyway. Looking back, I don't think my childhood was bad, but in a way, I escaped from the worst parts, tolerated most with general indifference, and still carry the skills I learned and the few sweet memories earned with me. However, I must admit, if Sheelba or your Ningauble were to somehow give me the opportunity, I would not go back."

Fafhrd was nodding in understanding as he said, "Speaking of going back, the little cloud on the horizon grows behind us and adjusts course with us. If we don't wish to go back to the city, most likely in chains, we should add more sail."

Mouse was immediately on the move, stowing the jug, pulling ties, and dropping the remaining sails in place, while Fafhrd changed course by a few degrees to take maximum advantage of the wind. With the tiller tied off, both men adjusted yardarm, boom, and lines and the additional sails were soon filling with wind, scooting the little ship along at a faster pace.

"Now I see why you suggested we use a patrol ship instead of one of the larger vessels," said Mouser as the distant sails slowly started to recede. The sailors on that vessel appeared to be adding more sail, too, and the ship's wizard was no doubt attempting to add to its velocity, but the larger ship was built for strength in war rather than sustained speed on the sea, and within four hours, it had dropped back, lost beyond the horizon.

Mouser retrieved the jug and handed it to his friend. "So, Fafhrd, are you ready to explain why we left so abruptly and why the king would be mad at you? You seemed to get along well in your 'negotiations,' though I'm not sure how much of that was your own bravado and how much was his ale and the other spirits from his cellar."

"Despite my personal feelings of the man, we got along quite well, and I got on even better with some of his wines." Two fingers touched his lips. "As one of the court types said, 'Divine!'" He chuckled at his own exaggerated impression and then took a drink from the jug. "The problem occurred when the chamberlain discovered me in the boudoir of what turned out to be the king's favorite mistress—"

Mouser's eye roll gave the big barbarian pause. "It wasn't on purpose! King Rodrack had apparently kept it secret, so how was I to know? Knowing the king and his reputation, I wasn't one to wait around to beg for his forgiveness. When the chamberlain escaped from the closet, or the woman from the silk bonds with which I bound her, the palace was, I'm sure, ablaze with furor and gossip, and that just from the kept women of the harem. The king, too, was almost certainly furious. Therefore, I made my escape from her room, and we ours from the city, before that great hubbub could begin."

Mouser was grinning but a powerful yawn suddenly interrupted him. When it faded, he waved off the jug and said, "Well, my barbarian friend, we kept this little ship fully provisioned, which is good. On the other hand, we can't return to Sarheenmar, we might want to avoid most of the Eight Cities for a while, and we best not take this vessel back to Lankhmar—someone might recognize it, after all, despite the changes we have made. Therefore, where do we go from here?"

Fafhrd, who had been wondering the same thing as they fled their pursuer, replied, "We know of reports of pirates to the west, rumors of ancient ruins in the jungles far to the south, and tales of smugglers to the north. Any of these might lead to adventure, profit, wine, and women."

The Gray Mouser nodded. "Good." He yawned again. "It seems we have ample opportunities."

"Assuredly so. Do you have a preference, little man?"

"None," replied Mouser through another yawn, "other than bed. Since you woke me up to join you on this expedition and ruined my own plans for a late night rendezvous with another of those lovely courtesans, I'm going down below to take a nap. Wake me in a couple of hours and I'll relieve you for a while. Until then, you steer, my friend, and let's go where the wind takes us."

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Follow-up Note: Thanks for reading as always. Please let me know your thoughts on the story. Thanks!_
> 
> _The story of Mouser's childhood was expanded in 1978 when Fritz Leiber invited his friend and co-creator of the characters and world of Nehwon, Harry Otto Fischer, to write his version of the Gray Mouser's origin. It was a dark tale that dovetailed nicely into the beginning of "The Unholy Grail," which originally introduced the Gray Mouser at about age 17 or 18. A number of the elements of Fischer's story, which was endorsed by Leiber and published in Dragon Magazine #18, are touched upon in this tale. A copy of the story is archived in the Dragon Magazine archive at_
> 
> _annarchive dot com / files / Drmg018 dot pdf (convert dots to periods and remove the spaces before using in your browser)_
> 
> _Whatever happened to Yusk and Shish was not told in Fischer's story and neither ever appeared in another tale, but it was revealed that Mouser had killed his first enemy at age eight, and was considered "a sly assassin who slew swiftly and surely" by the age of nine. Perhaps my speculation on their "departure" was as Harry Otto Fischer, with Fritz Leiber's blessing, originally intended._
> 
> _Finally, the prompt for this story was:_
> 
> _"I do not miss childhood, but I miss the way I took pleasure in small things, even as greater things crumbled. I could not control the world I was in, could not walk away from things or people or moments that hurt, but I took joy in the things that made me happy."_
> 
> _—Neil Gaiman, "The Ocean at the End of the Lane"_


	2. Story #2: Weighty Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Awaking aboard ship following an evening with his jug, Fafhrd finds Mouser apparently missing and himself at the mercy of a powerful being. Fantasy/humor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Story #2: Weighty Matters" was written for The Room Forum's August 2018 Promptapalooza Redux Writing Challenge, Challenge 1. To avoid giving away the story, the prompt will be revealed in the author's note at the end.
> 
> Disclaimer: Same as before.

In the tiny cabin of the little ship on the Inner Sea, Fafhrd awoke unexpectedly with a serious hangover and the weight of the world on his chest.

After escaping a king's wrath and his navy, the big barbarian and and his little friend, the Gray Mouser, were making their way to a small string of islands to the northwest. There, they planned to reprovision with fresh water, fruits, and whatever wild game they could find. Fafhrd hoped their findings would be good since rats had ruined most of their shipboard supplies. If they couldn't resupply, they would have to risk visiting one of the ports along the northern arc of the sea, the so-called Eight Cities, where bounty hunters abounded. With the rewards offered for the pair by several of the Cities and several others besides, the risk would not be small.

Then there was the matter of where they would go next, what ruins they would scavenge or what fortress they would rob. Or, if they decided to take the more legitimate route to remove some of the said bounties, which ruler, nobleman, wizard, or rich merchant they might serve or which evil sorcerer or band of pirates they might defeat or what rampaging monster they might kill in return for restoring their good names. Or at least restoring them for a little while.

However, none of these matters were currently as pressing as the demon that was sitting on Fafhrd's bare chest.

In the relative darkness of the little cabin, the demon's eyes were narrow, evil slits as it stared at its captive lying prone in the bunk. Triangular horns narrowing to long points that curved inward topped the barely visible silhouette of its broad head. The dim light from under the hatch behind the being didn't allow Fafhrd to see more.

Though he couldn't see them, clawed fingers exerted just enough pressure, almost to the point of pain, to let the barbarian know that the demon meant business. It wasn't a huge demon, though its weight on his chest—40 to 50 pounds, he guessed—was quite noticeable.

Fafhrd lay completely still, breathing shallowly, hoping to keep from disturbing the being and causing it to take a big bite of him. While the demon didn't seem to be that big, demons came in all shapes and sizes and were almost universally known to be as ferocious as they were evil. Smaller demons were said to often be even worse than their larger brethren. To make matters worse, some demonologists said that many demon's jaws could be unhinged like those of snakes, allowing the creatures to eat prey much larger than themselves.

Demons were also said to be voracious eaters of souls and bodies. Some even speculated that their digestive system consisted of internal hellfires that would allow them to eat almost nonstop, while others strongly disputed this. These scholars believed that demons, tied by their hearts and possibly more to their infernal planes through a type of astral projection, had the ability to collect souls and consume bodies on Nehwon and send both to their planes for proper disposal. Fafhrd almost shuddered at the thought before realizing his movement might set off that very series of, what would be for him, most unfortunate events.

The being sat silently on his chest, saying nothing, but it rumbled, practically nonstop, as if trying to decide whether it was actually hungry, if it would allow its evil nature to control and take his soul, or just kill for the fun of it. Whichever, it seemed to almost be daring the big man to take his chance before it had to decide.

Heartseeker, Fafhrd's short sword that the big man used like a dagger, lay on the side of the bunk next to him, ready for use, but the demon appeared to mean business and Fafhrd had to carefully evaluate his situation and his options. Having gotten the drop on him in his sleep, the evil being must have somehow surprised and overcome the Gray Mouser before his friend even had time to cry out. Now, in its current position, it might use those razor-like nails to rip out Fafhrd's heart, ending him as easily as it had his little friend up top. Any move to grab his blade would have to be perfectly timed to even give him the slightest chance of success, but in the tight confines of the cabin, he knew it would be practically impossible.

Therefore, trying to put Mouser's probable demise out of his thoughts and remembering what else he knew of demons from reading various ancient, arcane, and scholarly works and from his admittedly limited experience with the creatures, he decided to try to exploit what some experts seemed to agree was a possible demon weakness. They loved to appear to give humans what they wanted only to use their victims' own fallibilities and weaknesses to trap them in what the demons considered to be deliciously constructed webs of deceit. Yes, the experts agreed that demons loved to negotiate to their own advantage, and occasionally—perhaps, rarely?—that propensity could be turned against them.

Fafhrd's voice was soft, barely audible, when he spoke. "Demon, you have me at a great disadvantage for I know not how you came to be here or even who you are. Can you tell me your name?"

Fafhrd was quite surprised that the demon didn't go into a hysterical fit of laughter at the question. If it had, it might have been his best chance to grab Heartseeker and spring to the attack. He knew that a demon's true name could give those who knew it great power over the being, if exercised properly, so demons guarded their names zealously and ruthlessly, doing everything in their power to eliminate those who might somehow learn them.

Instead, the demon easily saw through Fafhrd's ploy and instead of laughing or cursing at the barbarian, it only dug one of its razorlike nails a tiny bit further into the big man's chest. Its rumbling deepened a bit, as if in warning that it would put up with no such silly suggestions.

"That's understandable, Demon. Since I don't know your name and since it does not appear to be forthcoming, I will continue to call you Demon and you may, if you wish, call me Fafnor," he said, using the assumed name by which he most recently gone rather than giving his own. If the demon produced a contract for him to sign (another alleged demon skill), he would prefer not to have his real name written on it. He wasn't sure if it would matter legally, but some argued that demons, since they used contracts in the first place, were bound by legalistics while others believed them to be totally chaotic. He hoped the legalistic-theory adherents were correct as he continued, "Therefore, I propose that we discuss this situation to see if we might settle it amiably instead of having to resort to base violence, in which case someone might get hurt."

With the steady and deliberately monotonous drone of the barbarian's singing voice, which he had learned long before might have a soothing effect on the unsuspecting, the demon's clawed fingers seemed to relax a bit, though still not entirely, and the rumbling threat subsided somewhat.

"Quite good, Demon. My friend and I are but lonely sailors caught on the open sea. We have little money and no treasures to speak of—"

The demon's rumble deepened once more, as if the being was not pleased by what it heard or, even worse, saw through the lie entirely.

"—but! We have something that might interest you. While our funds are tight, we each have a number of skills that, if put to proper use, might work to your advantage. You see, my friend is skilled with stealth and trickery, finagling locks and infiltration, and doing acrobatics and climbing walls, while I am big and strong, and despite my origins, can sing, play musical instruments, forge documents, and sometimes disarm traps, solve puzzles, and decipher old languages. In addition, we are both somewhat skilled with our weapons and might be able to provide you a service of that nature, if you would prefer that instead. Of course, since we work as a team, I'll need my friend to be in good health, so if you've tossed him overboard, you'll need to pull him back aboard right away or our service to you may not be fully effecti—"

The demon's horns seemed to twitch just before Fafhrd heard a loud noise on the deck above. It was, he supposed, Mouser being magically pulled from the water and tossed back aboard the ship.

"Wise move, good sir. You will not regret that since you'll find that we are both more effective when we work together. Now, if you'll share the service you'd like for us to undertake and then move off of me, we'll get—"

It all happened at once.

The little ship, hit by a larger-than-normal wave from an approaching storm, rolled to port. Because of the sudden roll, the cabin door slammed open and against the bulkhead rather than opening quietly as Mouser had intended. Whether caused by the abrupt roll or the sudden noise, the demon leapt into the air with a ferocious "RAEAREROUWW!" Fafhrd's hand gripped Heartseeker and brought it out as defense against the otherworldly being as he rolled from the bunk onto the cabin's floor.

Mouser, grabbing the wall to brace himself, said, "Sorry to wake you so soon—" but Fafhrd, trying to stand up in the all-too-short cabin, interrupted him.

"Mouser, on guard! A demon!"

In the tight confines of the now bobbing cabin, Cat's Claw seemed to leap into Mouser's right hand even as he leaned down and scooped up a large, cat-like creature with his left and gave it a sort of toss behind him, pushing it up the little ship's ladder and out on the deck.

"Where is the demon, Fafhrd? We must get it out of here and fight it on the deck before the storm hits! There is little enough room in this cabin for both of us, or for your upper half, it seems, much less room for our blades to toll the creature's knell."

Fafhrd's blade slowly lowered as he looked first at his friend and then back at the pair of eyes at the top of the inclined ladder. With a questioning look, he whispered, "Mouser, we have a cat? On our boat? A huge, _strange_ -looking cat?"

"Ship, Fafhrd. _Ship_. And yes. I think he may be part lynx. Maybe _mostly_ lynx."

"Maybe _all_ lynx? But please, tell me, when did we get a cat?"

But Mouser's attention had turned from his friend to the big cat, which, with its bob-like tail up, padded back down the ladder and rubbed first against him and then against Fafhrd's leg. Its rumbling, which Fafhrd now recognized as a deep purr, continued so the big man hesitantly reached down and rubbed the beast's neck before it circled around his legs.

"Well, he likes you."

Fafhrd looked skeptically at Mouser but the cat continued to rub against him, so he petted the creature again and then, shaking his head, stumbled up the ladder to help prepare the ship for the approaching storm. Once on deck, he asked, "Mouser, where did he come from? And what's his name?"

The Gray Mouser climbed up the short ladder behind his friend. "I have no idea where he came from, but I found him in the hold hunting the rats so I told him he was welcome to join our crew as long as he will take orders and continue to work for his living." He reached out and rubbed behind the cat's ear and seemed to commune with it for a few moments in the strange way that only Mouser could do. When he looked back at Fafhrd, he answered, "As for his name, I don't think he has one."

Fafhrd was silent as he hauled in the sails and tied them off while Mouser set the storm jib and adjusted lines even as the wind picked up. When they were as ready as they could be for the coming squall, the barbarian took his place at the tiller. The big cat approached, rubbed his leg, and then looked up at the big man, so Fafhrd reached down and rubbed behind the creature's ear like Mouser had done. "It's going to get rough, so you better get inside, friend. And say, what if we call you Demon?"

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Author's Notes:** _
> 
> _Thanks for reading this tale. The challenge prompt for this story was "Adopt-A-Pet: How will your character, who never has had experience with pets of any kind, adapt to this situation?" I hope you enjoyed my attempt at a humorous take on it. I'll greatly appreciate any reviews, comments, and, for the contest, votes._
> 
> _While Mouser had cats when he was young (Fischer's "The Childhood and Youth of the Gray Mouser) and spent time with them from time to time as an adult (including a nod in my story "Lost in Lankhmar"), to the best of my recollection, Fafhrd never had pets during their early adventuring days up to this point in the timeline (the boys are around 30 years of age here)._
> 
> _As for the weight, lynx on Earth come in four varieties with weights between 18 and 66 pounds (per Wikipedia), with the Eurasian Lynx weighing between 40 and 66 pounds. Curiously, while there are a number of examples of differences, many species on Nehwon seemed to have very similar characteristics to their Earthly counterparts._


	3. Story #3: Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Summary:** Following a severe storm at sea, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser find their little ship trapped far from shore and supplies running desperately low._
> 
> _One-shot written for the Caesar's Palace Monthly Oneshot Contest for September 2018 (see author's note at the end for prompt)._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Disclaimer:** This story is a work of fiction, written totally for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of Fafhrd, the Gray Mouser, and world of Nehwon is entirely my own. They remain the property of the Estate of Fritz Leiber._

The storm raged around them, driving their little vessel to-and-fro through the churning sea.

"Do your worst!" shouted Fafhrd against the wind as he fought to keep their stolen patrol ship running straight up and down the towering waves.

"I wouldn't tempt it!" called the Gray Mouser from down in the hold as he operated the pump handle time and time again. He was splashing water on the pump frequently to keep it cool. "If this water gets much deeper down here, we'll be swimming."

"Then pump, Mouser, pump! And hold on! Here comes another one!"

For three days and three nights, neither man slept as they struggled to keep their little ship afloat, with someone always on the tiller and lines and someone always on the bilge pump. They swapped tasks periodically to work different muscles, but there was neither rest nor respite.

Finally, with the coming of a new morn, the sun's rays broke through the clouds as the driving rains finally ended and the howling wind slowed to a breezy clip. Apparently miles from anywhere, the two men secured their vessel and collapsed into their bunks.

~F&tGM~

It was dark once more when Fafhrd rolled out of bed—carefully to avoid bumping his head—and headed up the short ship's ladder to the deck. There, he saw countless stars back-dropping the filled sails and taut lines of the little ship, but, to the experienced sailor, something seemed off.

"The sleeping giant has arisen. Finally! Welcome back to the land of the living. Or, I guess, the sea of the living since I see stars all the way down to the horizon all around us."

The big barbarian chuckled and gave a bit of a bow to Mouser's one-handed claps against his leg, but when he straightened, he slowly looked around. "Mouser, what's happening? The sails are filled—"

"But we're not moving?"

Fafhrd moved to the rail and looked at the bow. With only the light of the running lantern behind him, he couldn't see but he could tell that the vessel wasn't cutting through the water as it usually did when they were under sail. "Yes, we don't seem to be moving. Why aren't we?"

The little man pitched a gaff that Fafhrd caught one handed. "Dip it into the water."

Mouser received a questioning look in reply, but Fafhrd did as he'd been told. He tried to stir the hooked stick around in the water, but it seemed to catch on something, so he started to pull it out, only to find that he was pulling something up with it on its barb. "What on Nehwon?"

Having set the tiller, the Gray Mouser moved closer and held the little running lantern over the side, giving off enough light that Fafhrd could see the tangle of seaweed that he had pulled from the ocean.

~F&tGM~

"I heard of the Sea of Weeds as a child but always believed it to be a fairy tale. The men of my clan said ships that entered its triangle were soon covered in the weeds, entangled and pulled down into the depths, that nothing that entered ever came out."

"Fafhrd, unlike some, there are times when I might not object to the somewhat whitewashed truth rather than the brutally blunt, unvarnished version. And, unfortunately, my friend, this just may be one of those times. However, since you have apparently already ruined the moment, would you care to give me the rest of the bad news so we can start working on a plan to prove your kinsmen wrong?"

The barbarian took the lantern and moved forward where he could see the water against the bow. Nodding, he said, "The Sea of Weeds is supposedly a large area well out in the ocean of which the Outer Sea is a part. Some believe it is a very shallow sea at the intersection of several ocean currents, and that the bottom of the sea is covered with seaweed."

"Bottom? Looks like the top to me."

"Now, yes. It's said that when a hurricane sweeps through, the shallow sea froths mightily and the weeds are ripped up from the bottom. After the storm ends, they float to the top, forming a thick mass that serves to entangle any vessel in the area. Over time, they sink back to the bottom, either to reattach themselves or to decompose and fertilize the new plants that take their place."

"So the part about covering ships and dragging them to the bottom is complete hokum?"

Fafhrd chuckled. "I wouldn't know for sure, but I suspect it might be since my father and the other men always said that nothing that entered the Sea of Weeds ever came out. If that was truly the case, how would they have known that particular detail? Therefore, one of the two most frightful aspects of the dreaded place must be wrong—"

"In which case, we have a chance," finished Mouser, nodding. Sounding more upbeat, he added, "See, that wasn't so hard, was it, Fafhrd? In just a few short minutes, we have gone from certain doom to having a chance. Now, let's see if we can just figure out what that chance is and how to take advantage of it."

~F&tGM~

It was in the morning light when they started working in earnest on the solution to their problem.

"Fafhrd, if we can push these awful weeds down deep enough into the water, we can sail right over them."

"True, Mouser, but the timing must be right or they will return to their spots near the surface before the bow can slide over them and we will be as blocked as ever. To make matters worse, as many of these hideous vines as there are, we will be old and gray—or worse—long before we ever escape their grasp and can return to Lankhmar or any of the other cities of the realms to enjoy our waning years."

"Old and gray, as you say, look oddly appealing in comparison to what may await us in these gods-forsaken tangles. Thanks to the infestation of rats and the waters of the storm, our stores of food are practically exhausted. We will starve long before your luxuriant beard ever has a chance to take on even a single gray strand."

"Nay! We will doubtless have to work, and work hard, for our suppers, but there are fish in the ocean for the taking. Of course, when—old and gray-headed, mind you—we finally escape this tangled place, we may never wish to see another fish again."

"So how do we push the weeds down to allow us to sail over them?" asked Mouser.

After much discussion about various options, the two men lashed together a triangle that they then affixed to a long pole at the center of its long base and its point at the top; with the pole sticking up, the bottom of the triangle would be used to push the weeds down. A lanyard cord would prevent the pusher pole device from being lost. A second pole with a fork-like attachment would be used to clear the triangle of the seaweed when needed.

That, at least, was the theory. The pusher pole soon proved partially effective, but they had to widen the bottom of the triangle by lashing on another pole. The forked pole, however, was a complete bust. Mouser ended up drawing Scalpel and a quick swing got rid of the tangled vines that clung to the pusher pole.

"Fafhrd, we're having to push the weeds down too far for the bow to slip over them."

The big man was nodding. "Exactly. We need to lessen the ship's draft so it will be easier for us to sail out over the seaweeds."

While the Gray Mouser had considerable experience as a sailor, Fafhrd had even more. Therefore, Mouser asked, "So what do we get rid of to make our ship ride higher in the water?"

Fafhrd's countenance darkened as he thought of the goods they had in the hold that they'd planned to sell in their next port-of-call. He responded. "Everything."

~F&tGM~

Crewman—1st Class Demon sat licking his fur and guarding the three dead rats laid out beside him as he watched his little human friend down in the hold hand item after item up to the big human on the deck. Big Man would generally look into the barrel or crate, make an ugly face like only humans could do, and then toss said item out into the water. Occasionally, he would set the container to the side instead of tossing it, and even more rarely—

"Demon! Catch!" called the Big Man as he quickly tilted the barrel, thereby spilling yet another rat out on the deck. The big rodent tried to flee, as had the others before it, but Demon pounced and soon had another dead rat to guard.

Though he didn't really understand the words the Big Human said, his instincts led him to catch a fleeing a rat and he figured that the Big Man's call of "Good Demon!" wasn't a threat, so said the lynx went back to licking his fur, hoping there would be another rat for him to catch before too long.

~F&tGM~

"Did we make any progress? And what do we have left?" asked Mouser as he climbed up out of the hold.

Fafhrd nodded. "Our draft is now about as shallow as we can make it and still keep the boat stable. There are nine kegs of water, but almost all of the food was spoiled or ruined. I salvaged what I could, but tell me, Mouser, how did the rats do so much damage?"

The little thief reached down and picked up a couple of items he'd brought with him. "I think this is the best clue we have."

Holding up pieces of the lid of a keg, he placed them on the deck and kneeled down next to them. In a few moments, he'd reassembled them into the shape of the top. He then pointed to a section of the wood that looked different than the rest, where something had cut deep into the woodgrain before the board broke. "I'm guessing an axe was used on this one, though a few others looked like the head of a hammer or the butt of an axe."

"Deliberate. Someone did this deliberately."

Mouser agreed. "They broke all of the ones in the back, leaving only a few in front that we would have noticed right away. I wouldn't be surprised if they left us the gift of some rats, too. As to the someone, I would guess that one—or perhaps more—of our former hirelings from Kleg Nar didn't appreciate us not keeping them on board or giving them a ride back home. Of course, I have no proof, and, in truth, it could have also been someone with an intense, deep-seated hatred of crates and keg and barrel lids. But I wouldn't bet on that."

"Nor would I, my friend."

~F&tGM~

After some experimentation and modifications of their plan that evening, they started their journey to escape from the Sea of Weeds the next morning before the sun topped the horizon. Not knowing how far the mass of seaweed stretched in any direction, they decided to travel east since they knew they would eventually reach land in that direction. If, of course, they lasted that long.

"Mouser, this isn't working. Every time I push it down to let the bow move over them, the weeds get tangled on the push bar and slow us back down. I'm cutting them off like you were, but it's going to take forever if we can't make more progress than this."

"Fafhrd, the wind's blowing well for us right now. Can you push down less and let the ship's bow do more of the work driving over them?"

Up front, the big man pushed the pole down again but this time, he drew it up more quickly. "Say, I think that might work. It looked like we went almost twice as far and it wasn't as much effort pulling the pole back up."

Though neither man said it, they were both thinking that would be very important if they were going to get out of the weedy sea alive.

~F&tGM~

"We have enough water to last well over a month and can catch rainwater to supplement that. It's the food that worries me. We've caught one little fish in almost two days, with nothing at all today. On quarter rations, we should have enough of what you salvaged to last about three weeks. Of course, you'll last a lot longer after we run out of food since you have a bigger body frame and more reserves. With my svelte shape," said Mouser, sweeping his hands up and down his body, "I'll shrivel up to nothing in just a week or two after our supply is exhausted."

"Perhaps," agreed Fafhrd, "but with my larger girth and musculature, I burn through food more quickly than you to keep all these muscles strong and healthy." With a grin, he struck an exaggerated pose showcasing his bulging arm muscles. His grin faded as he added, "I'll burn through those reserves pretty quickly and we'll both croak at about the same time. Demon has a bigger problem; he caught enough rats to last him a week. He won't eat our rice or beans."

"We'll need to catch at least one good fish a day for him; that would probably tide us over, too, if only they would bite. Therefore, we have maybe a month to make it out of this mess unless we can start catching lots of fish.

~F&tGM~

It was the fourth day of their effort to escape from the Sea of Weeds, and Fafhrd estimated that they had traveled less than ten miles. The first day, he'd estimated they'd gone three quarters of a mile—while telling Mouser almost two to keep his little friend from worrying—and then four and five but reporting six and eight.

Fafhrd was doing the pole work when he called out to Mouser on the tiller. "I think we should make another push pole and then take turns with the push. It should let us keep moving and we might make more progress. The steering adjustments aren't really doing much for us so we tie it off and correct course occasionally when we need it.

With the second push pole, they started making better time as their little ship glided more smoothly over the tangled seaweed. However, neither man got a break so they started to tire after a while. They started alternating short breaks each hour so they made better progress most of the time.

On their reduced rations, both men were starting to get hungry in addition to being tired, but neither wanted to be the first to admit it. Therefore, they pushed themselves hard and on the fifth and sixth days, Fafhrd figured they'd made nine to ten miles each day while he told Mouser their progress was about twelve.

~F&tGM~

_On the seventh day..._

"I've got a nibble!" called The Gray Mouser as he grabbed the line and pulled it up through the weeds as quickly as he could. When the hook broke the surface, he was disappointed to find nothing on it other than a sprig of seaweed that it collected as it came up. He sighed as he dislodged the seaweed and added a bit of the spoiled fatback that Fafhrd had saved for the purpose. "I swear I got a bite, Fafhrd, and I felt it as I was pulling it up, but it was gone by the time it got up here."

Fafhrd, also taking a break from the poling, was working his line on the other side of the little ship. "Bigger fish keep getting the treat we're providing. Our friend is going to start getting hungry soon if we don't come up with something for him. How do you think he'll react when the pangs get bad?"

Mouser sighed. "It will be okay for a while, but eventually, hunger will overcome his sense of camaraderie with us. At that point…"

"That's what I thought," agreed Fafhrd. "We have to keep trying."

Mouser did, dropping the weighted, baited hook back into the sea even as Fafhrd was once again pulling up an empty hook.

~F&tGM~

_On the eleventh day…_

Mouser's trousers hung loosely on his thin frame as he worked his pole up and down to allow the little ship to continue to move forward. Observing Fafhrd just on the other side of the bow, he saw that his friend's frame was thinner and gaunter that it had been, too. Mouser was also sure that the big man's stomach ached similar to his own, but, as if by common agreement, both men avoided speaking about it to try to keep from thinking about it.

If that only actually worked, thought Mouser has he pushed his pole down again and quickly brought it back up.

~F&tGM~

_On the twelfth day…_

Working the push pole, Fafhrd was concentrating on the lines of an epic poem of his people in order to avoid thinking of the hunger he was experiencing. At one-quarter rations, he knew they could live for a long time if they didn't have to expend so much energy trying to free their ship from the seaweed-filled sea.

With thoughts of food, or rather, the lack thereof, causing him to lose his place in his mental recitation of the poem, he sighed as Mouser's pole reached the top and he drove his own pole downward once more.

"Mouser, when we escape this seaweed morass and reach an actual port, I'm going to eat a reindeer. A whole reindeer, barbecued over a spit, and slathered in seasoned plum sauce. With a tub of potatoes tossed in olive oil. And pepper. Oh, and rosemary! With a keg—no, a barrel!—of honeyed mead."

The Gray Mouser was smiling. "For such a big man, you sometimes think too small, Fafhrd. Pshaw! A reindeer? When we get out of this tangle and reach a civilized port, I'm going to eat a cow. Yes, a whole cow, horns and hooves and all, that will make one of those antlered beasts from your homeland pale in comparison. There will be no potatoes at my feast for there'll be no need for them. I'll eat steak after steak on end, with a barrel—no, a tank!—of the finest ale to wash them down. In fact, my tank will have a pump operated by a beautiful—"

"Mouser!" exclaimed Fafhrd. "The pump! A pump's handle is a lever. There was discussion of that magnificent tool in one of Ningauble's books that I've read. Some wise man once wrote that with a large enough lever, he could move the world!"

The Gray Mouser looked at his friend skeptically, wondering how wise a man could really be to have said such a silly thing, but he said nothing since he was interested in Fafhrd's idea.

Pulling his push pole up and tying it off, Fafhrd rushed to the lamp, wiped his finger on the inside of the glass globe, and then started using the lampblack to draw on a piece of sailcloth. "Mouser, perhaps we'll make it a party and share my reindeer and potatoes and your cow steaks and all the mead and ale and wine we can drink. After all, meals are always best when shared with a friend. And what, pray tell, is the best part of the meal? Yes! Tell me, Mouser, what desserts will we have to cap our feast?"

After fabricating the new device from a spare spar to act as a lever, some timbers to act as a housing and fulcrum, and more bracing to keep the push pole aligned, they found the device eased their effort significantly and allowed them to make better progress in their effort to escape. Therefore, for the next few days, they periodically played the game with their planned celebration meals becoming more and more elaborate.

Eventually, though, with no escape in sight, their increasingly fantastic desires and their attempts at food one-upmanship began to weigh on them so they fell silent, taking turns operating the lever and going as far as they could each day. It was about that time when Fafhrd quietly discontinued taking measurements of their progress. The measurement had seemingly become more of a pained expression of how far they still had to go than how far they'd already gone.

~F&tGM~

_On the eighteenth day…_

Fafhrd stood at the back end of the big pole moving it up and down to operate the push pole. His stomach ached with each movement but he worked without complaint.

Mouser was up in the little nest searching the horizon diligently for any sign of a break in the Sea of Weeds. They had come across a couple of such breaks in recent days, allowing them to sail freely for a while without using the big lever before the seaweed closed off their route once more. They'd soon learned to spot the breaks by the bluer water and the little waves. Still, these were few and far between as Mouser reported once again, "Nothing, Fafhrd. No breaks as far as the eye can see."

The little man slid down and took over on the lever, giving the big barbarian a break. His stomach ached, too, but he fought his instincts and held his tongue just as the barbarian had before him.

~F&tGM~

_On the twenty-fourth day…_

Their food supply was exhausted and true hunger pangs had set in. They once again generally avoided discussion of food since such discussions only reminded them of what they didn't have. The exception was about fish. They'd caught three in recent days; the two men had one each, leaving the third to Demon.

The big cat had become increasingly irritable in recent days and was making strange faces, even for a lynx, as it sniffed the ocean air.

"Maybe he smells land," suggested Mouser, but since neither man had seen anything from the crow's nest, they could only guess that the cat was getting closer to the point where its instincts would drive it to attempt to get food from a different source. Since they were the only other available source, they slept at night with the cabin door closed with Demon out on the deck.

~F&tGM~

_Day twenty-nine…_

"Mouser, do you smell it?"

"Something, yes. What is it, Fafhrd?"

"I don't know. It's stronger today than it was yesterday, and that was stronger than the day before."

Mouser didn't respond because he was rapidly pulling up his line. "Ha! Another fish! That's two in one day on top of the one yesterday. We will feast tonight, Fafhrd."

~F&tGM~

_Morning of the thirty-third day…_

"Let's make this be the day we escape from this mess," said Mouser as he untied the lever and prepared to start their daily efforts. "The smell of this sea is making me sicker each day."

Fafhrd agreed. "Today would be an excellent day for such success. Fresh air would be nice, too."

As the morning progressed, though, the two men realized that their progress was slow and the breaks they needed were becoming more frequent. Demon the cat was doing odd contortions with his face, too, despite having gotten a fish for breakfast. It was the first they'd caught in several days.

"We're getting weaker, Mouser, using our bodies' reserves instead of food to fuel us and keep us going."

"I feel it, too, Fafhrd, as well as seeing it in both of us. We can keep going for a while, but each day will be harder and our progress will decrease as we weaken. Unless, that is, we can pull more fish from the sea. With the fatback gone, we're running low on bait, too, which makes matters worse."

~F&tGM~

_Day thirty-four…_

On awaking, the two men fished for a while, pulling two small fish from the water. They split them three ways, with Demon getting the heads and tails since he didn't make any complaints about them. The entrails were saved for bait for evening fishing.

"As our condition deteriorates, the smell of the sea continues to worsen with each passing day," complained Mouser. "If something doesn't change soon, we will go to our watery graves holding our noses as we think of the treasures we haven't had the chance to plunder and the mouthwatering dishes we haven't had the chance to try."

"Speaking of treasures, Mouser, I would give a king's ransom at the moment for a big pot of meaty stew we could share."

"A duke's ransom, perhaps," countered Mouser. "For a king's ransom, I would want several pots of your stew, several tankards of ale for each of us, and, due to our severely weakened conditions, a serving wench to feed us and minister to our needs." Nodding to their fellow crewman, he added, "And a string of fine rabbits for our feline friend."

Fafhrd gave a wry smile before saying, "Since we had to dump our cargo to lighten our vessel, any ransom we are able to offer will necessarily be rather small. Cups of stew, perhaps, and a rat for Demon?"

"If only," agreed The Gray Mouser.

Rising, Fafhrd made his way to the bow, but his joints creaked in complaint as he did. Mouser handed him some water, which the big man drank gladly. Staying well hydrated helped alleviate some of the pain they were feeling.

After untying it, Fafhrd pushed up on the spar arm to push the push pole down into the water. When he did, his expression changed as he pulled the pole back down. After a few more cycles, he said, "Mouser, something's different when I push."

The big man secured the lever and moved to the front where he looked down over the bow into the water below them. Mouser joined him and did the same, grabbing the second push pole that they were no longer using since the lever arm was more efficient. He dropped it over the side and pushed down, only to pull it back up a second later.

"Mouser, look! The weeds, they're breaking up! The horrible smell is their decay!"

"Like a swamp!" exclaimed The Gray Mouser. "As they decay and break up, our little ship may be able to slip over them without our effort."

"Then slip over them, we will. Add sail, Mouser!"

"Add sail, Fafhrd! By all means, add sail! A cow awaits me."

"And a reindeer, me!"

~F&tGM~

Three nights later, a bonfire lit a secluded beach on a desert island.

Fafhrd and The Gray Mouser reclined on the sand, feeling the warmth of the fire as they ate fish, crabs, clams, coconuts, and fruit collected on the island and the surrounding waters. Demon the cat sat further from the fire, licking his fur after a meal of small rodents caught on the island followed by fish supplied by his human friends.

The little ship had, with relatively few snags, been able to slip through the remaining vegetation and escape from the Sea of Weeds. Once they were free, a net dropped over the side, many times, yielded enough fish to give them the strength and hope they'd been so desperately needing.

"Fafhrd, it's not a cow—"

"Nor a reindeer."

"—but this is a feast fit for a king, an emperor, or an overlord. Or just good friends. It may not be exactly what we wanted, but it's what we need."

"Agreed, my friend." Not even considering the double meaning, Fafhrd added, "Yes, I can live with it."

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _**Author's Notes:** _
> 
> _Thank you for reading this story. The challenge prompt for this story was "something about how food can fuel us, heal us, lead us to new discoveries, and bring us together."_
> 
> _Considering Ningauble's travels to many times and many worlds, the saying that Fafhrd references might possibly be from the ancient Greek scientist Archimedes. He said, "Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world."_


	4. Story #4: Aftermath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Summary:** Following a battle at sea, Fafhrd, the huge barbarian, and The Gray Mouser, his little friend, find their ship badly damaged. Unfortunately, finding a safe place for repairs is sometimes almost as dangerous as the battle that caused the damage in the first place! Fantasy/adventure._
> 
> _**Disclaimer:** This story is a work of fiction, written totally for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of Fafhrd, the Gray Mouser, and world of Nehwon is entirely my own. They remain the property of their respective owners._

The ship was in shambles.

The mast had been snapped in half, splintered at about mid height; the upper part trailed in the water behind the little vessel by a single still-intact line. Part of the railing on both sides was also broken and missing, and the little dinghy that ordinarily sat overturned over the hold was nowhere to be seen, though scattered planking may have represented some of its crushed remains.

The rigging that remained was tangled, littering the deck, along with several long streaks of blood, four severed tentacles of varying lengths, and the bodies of two sailors. A large, strange-looking cat, sitting next to the smaller body, licked its paw repeatedly, as if completely oblivious to all of the carnage around it.

A finger on the hand of the smaller body slowly uncurled from around the handle of the slightly curved dagger that it grasped. Other fingers followed in turn and the hand rose from the deck to rub the cat.

"Mou-ser? Are you moving or is that a tentacle we missed petting Demon?" called the larger body, leaning haphazardly and still unmoving, against part of the broken rail. "I am still so exhausted from our battle that I can't move, even for our friend."

The Gray Mouser, his right hand almost glued with dried blood to the handle of a handaxe slowly began peeling that hand open, too. He'd discovered during the battle that the axe was more effective at severing the scaly tentacles than Scalpel, his sword.

"I'm moving, Fafhrd, but I'm not sure how, nor am I quite sure if all my parts and pieces are still present or if the sea-beast carried some away as it sank back into the depths from whence it came."

With both hands finally free, Mouser reached down and patted his legs. "Yes, still here, but I'm not sure if I'm feeling them yet. Do you have any idea how long we were out?"

"Based on the sun—assuming it is still today and not 'tomorrow, or beyond—several hours. I can't remember being so exhausted after a battle."

The axe, sporting dried blood that included Mouser's handprint, came sliding across the deck toward the big barbarian. "Thank you for the use of your axe, but I must wonder if I might be a little more exhausted than you. After all, while the battleaxe with which you fought weights more, it was much more effective at cutting through the beast's practically armored limbs than this little axe, which made me feel like I was felling tall trees in the Great Forest with a pen knife. Tall, quickly moving trees that wouldn't let me hit the same spot twice without great effort. While still more effective than my Scalpel, a trusty weapon of precision and finesse, I was forced to work extra hard to keep up with you on the tentacle count. I believe my final total was twelve."

Fafhrd finally forced himself into a real sitting position. "Well, your twelve and my thirteen may slightly exceed my initial estimate of six to eight of the murderous appendages. Of course, it's quite possible that we shortened some of those snake-like arms two or three or even four times!"

The big man groaned slightly as he shifted before again catching sight of Demon. He laughed, lightly, before he added, "And, based on how our friend the demon-cat was comporting himself in the fray—and since—he may have accounted for one or two more."

Mouser, secretly kicking himself that he hadn't said a higher number, praised the cat, too, and rubbed him once more before changing positions and trying to rise. When he reached his full height of a bit over 5-feet, he slowly observed the vessel. "Fafhrd, this is going to take some effort—no, make that a lot of effort—to restore this ship to seaworthiness."

Fafhrd, who'd slowly pulled himself up to his almost 7-foot height, was also looking around. "We can make repairs, but there's a lot here that will have to be rebuilt. We'll need a shipyard and some skilled shipwrights."

"Where's the nearest shipyard? Ool Hrusp?"

The big barbarian started to nod but switched to speaking when he realized it would be less painful to his muscles. "Ool Hrusp, it is. Wait! Mouser, we aren't wanted in Ool Hrusp, are we?"

Mouser laughed. "One never knows, Fafhrd. Remember when we were last there? We served the Mad Duke for a time. Oh, and what a time that was, but who knows if he recalls our service favorably."

"So true, Mouser. We may remember the wonderful play-acting we performed with great clarity, but he might not even remember it at all, if he even still sits on their horned throne."

Mouser chuckled again. "What costumes we arranged! And what stunts we performed, both on and off-stage, with severed straw arms and legs, beheaded or squashed pumpkinheads, and the accompanying pots of their slaughtered cows' blood in ridiculous quantities."

"Mouser, we debated this to no end back then. The blood was to make it comically unbelievable to all but one who was insane and expecting it."

"Comical to us, Fafhrd, and most viewers, but to one who was stark, raving mad, our performances might be remembered much differently, perhaps even to the point of believing them to have been quite real. If, as you said, he remembers them at all."

"Yes, whether wanted or not, perhaps we should avoid the Duke and his minions entirely."

~F&tGM~

It was late afternoon in Ool Hrusp when Garslarz Finkelbaur, making his way to one of the taverns on the dock, noticed a strange vessel approaching the city.

Slarz, as he was known to his friends at the shipyard, prided himself on being able to tell the origin of any vessel that entered the harbor by the shape of the vessel and its rigging. The rigging usually allowed him to make a good guess by the time a vessel passed the outer marker. The shape of the prow and the rest of the vessel usually allowed him to confirm his original guess by the time the ship hit the inner marker, and a close study of the ship's features allowed him to know if it had been modified to obscure its origin by the time the vessel was tied up to the dock. Slarz studied the approaching vessel closely but it was so badly damaged he didn't hazard to make a guess.

That in itself was a clue; only pirates went to such great efforts to disguise their ship; pirate victims were about the only ones who might have suffered so much damage. However, based on his nearly 50 years of work in the shipyard building and repairing ships, he knew that the damage he was witnessing wasn't caused by pirates. Therefore, it must have been self-inflicted to cover up their piracy, and that meant a possible reward.

Garslarz Finkelbaur was in the harbormaster's office almost immediately, and by the time the ship docked, a squad of soldiers was hidden along the quay, waiting for the crew to disembark.

The master and two soldiers, his usual complement to avoid arousing suspicion, approached the boat as a little man tied it off.

"Looks like you've had a time of it? Run into a band of pirates?"

The little man shook his head. "Not so lucky. It was a sea monster, huge, with more scaly arms than we could count. It tried to drag us under but we fought it for hours before finally driving it away or killing it."

The harbormaster gave them a skeptical look. "Sea monster, eh? Why should I believe such a tall tale?"

He had little time to wait for an answer, for the little man cut a rope restraining a barrel tied to the side of the ship. Taking his foot, he pushed against the top and tipped the barrel over, spilling its contents onto the dock.

The master screamed and jumped back to avoid being eaten by the giant snake that almost leapt from the barrel, but, with his heart racing, he soon realized that it wasn't moving, and, instead of being a snake, was indeed part of a giant, tentacled arm covered in scales. "You're telling the truth! You fought the beast?" he squeaked as he tried to control his breathing.

The big, burly man approaching laughed at his surprise. "Indeed. We think it to be a giant octopus, but it could as easily be a gigantic squid, though we don't think those creatures have scales. Therefore, our best guess is that it might possibly be a legendary kraken. Whatever it was, it did a great deal of damage to our ship while we did even more to it. We are here to get our ship fixed, and not to fight with your squad hiding, not so well, behind those barrels."

With the evidence of the severed arm in front of him, the official couldn't take his eyes off of it for several seconds, but finally nodded and called, "Squad, you're dismissed." The soldiers lowered their crossbows as they rose from their hiding places; they then retreated back down the dock.

"So, what do you plan to do in our fair city?" asked the official, as he readied his pad and assumed his regular duties once more. Still, he made frequent glances at the severed limb to make sure it wasn't still alive after all.

The big man looked at virtual wreck behind him. "We're here to get our ship fixed, or course."

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's Note: Thanks for reading. This story is a prelude to Story #5: Sorcery at Smarndon Strait, but it couldn't be included in that story due to the length restrictions on the contest for which it was written. The notes about the Mad Duke and Ool Hrusp will be included in that story. For those reading this, I'll post that story soon._


	5. Story #5: Sorcery at Smarndon Strait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _**Summary:** With their little ship badly damaged, Fafhrd, the big barbarian, and The Gray Mouser, his little friend, must agree to assist a wizard with a big problem to get it fixed. Of course, wizards themselves are always big problems; one is bad enough but when two are involved, careful planning sometimes goes right out the window. Fantasy/adventure._
> 
> _"Story #5: Sorcery at Smarndon Strait" was my entry in the 2018 WA Role Reversal Challenge._
> 
> _**Disclaimer:** This story is a work of fiction, written totally for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of Fafhrd, the Gray Mouser, and world of Nehwon is entirely my own. They remain the property of their respective owners._
> 
> Story word count by Microsoft Word: 7,960 words The challenge limited the story length to 8,000 words.

Instead of the old, bearded man the two men recalled from their previous visit to Ool Hrusp, a woman, possibly nearing middle age, wearing feminine wizard's robes sat at the far side of a wide table. Her face, quite beautiful, was turned so they only saw her in profile. Without turning, she waved for them to be seated opposite her.

"You were here some years ago...entertaining the duke."

"Told you," mouthed the Gray Mouser to his friend.

Fafhrd the big barbarian nodded with a slight bow. "We were briefly blessed with the opportunity to entertain his eminence some years ago, true. We hope he remembers our performances favorably."

The woman smiled. "I would personally count on our mad duke remembering nothing, favorably or otherwise, and in the event that a memory does grace him, I would further count on it gracing him rather incompletely or even inaccurately, in which case it might have been better for said memory to have passed him by entirely."

"Well said," agreed Fafhrd.

A nod. "I am Countess Grell, court sorcerer and advisor to the duke."

Grell turned toward them. When she did, Mouser's breath caught involuntarily as she revealed the pale leather mask that covered most of the right side of her face.

Though his own mentor had been a white mage, Mouser was somewhat familiar with the side effects of black magic; he could only imagine what the mask might conceal. With such beauty on the exposed side of her face, the powers of magic, if such actually existed, would likely have delighted in taking something the woman prized so dearly in return for their favor.

Fafhrd, however, continued to smile as if the mask was a fashion statement rather than a cover for some hideous deformity. "Countess, we greatly appreciate the opportunity to meet with you today."

"You and your small friend requested this meeting and sent an appropriate gift. How could I refuse such a generous invitation?"

"Our many thanks, Countess."

"So, tell me, for what cause do we meet?"

"Madame, our little ship was badly damaged on the Inner Sea. We have sought repairs, but the costs of the works are beyond our means. Therefore, it has been suggested by some that we seek out your patronage in return for our services in hopes that we might both achieve our goals."

A slight smile creased the left side of her face. "You have laid your desire on the table, but what, pray tell, do you believe is mine? With what desire of mine do you believe that you might assist me?"

"A woman of such power and beauty might have many desires, Madame. Who am I to attempt to pick without knowing you better?"

Mouser hid his scowl at Fafhrd. He started to kick the big man's foot under the table in warning but felt the side of Fafhrd's boot even before he could raise his own.

Her smile grew to cover both sides of her face through the exposed cutout. "Try."

Fafhrd bowed his head deeper, considering what they'd heard around town, before looking up to peer into her eyes. "Madame, you have problems with pirates cutting off shipping to your city from the city and towns on the west coast. You have a sea monster—a kraken, which we have already faced once and which is the cause of the damage to our vessel—that restricts shipping on the longer route from those locations."

"So?"

"As such, your cattle, the source of your city's great wealth, cannot be safely shipped, which cuts into the profits of the wealthier members of your society. Though not as important economically as your cattle, a similar statement can be made for the timbers brought downriver from the Great Forest. The reduction in trade puts a pinch on economic activity in your city and its territories, particularly among the nobility and the wealthy merchants. This undermines the rule of your duke, and as the situation worsens, his rule will continue to become more precarious. On a personal level, that precariousness may carry over to affect you."

The woman's face had gone slack as Fafhrd finished his analysis. She stared at him when he was finished before, with some venom in her voice, she replied, "I am a wizard and a powerful one. I have paid the price, a great price, for that power. If something were to happen to my patron, I would quite easily land on my feet and be able to serve another."

Fafhrd gave a nod. "True, Madame. Doubtless you would. But the situation would be different and might not be to your liking. Due to Duke Lithquil's personal issues, it might be inferred by some that much of the actual rule of the land is accomplished by others in his stead, and that a successor to the Throne of Horns might not be so willing to divest power to his or her advisors. Furthermore, in such a transfer of power, reputations can be damaged; a powerful advisor to one ruler might not be seen quite as favorably by others if the advisor fails to protect said ruler."

Grell's focus remained on Fafhrd long after he rested. Finally, she gave him a nod. "Very good. You will do. For the time you have spent in our city, you do have a reasonable grasp of the situation. We will meet again in the morning to finalize our arrangement. Guest quarters will be made available for you for the evening."

The ding of a little bell caused a young page to enter. "Benrí will take you to your quarters and arrange sustenance for the evening. Good night, gentlemen."

~F&tGM~

The room was comfortable but the Gray Mouser wasn't enjoying it. He lay on the bed with his hands laced behind his head on the pillow and feet crossed, brooding on the situation. Thinking of the meeting and the danger from the sorceress that Fafhrd didn't appear to see, he rose from the bed. With a frustrated huff, Mouser put on his soft leather boots and moved to the door. He blew out the little candle before quietly slipping the latch and peeking outside.

The hall was dimly lit and the infrequent candle sconces cast dark shadows between them. The sound of wind blowing through the corridor from some distant part of the palace gave it a spooky feel since no one was about.

Mouser slipped out into the hall, hugging the wall as he padded his way along to one of the shadows. He saw the door to Fafhrd's room just down the hall; he was about to make a break for it when movement near the floor caught his eye.

Breathing shallow to avoid sound, Mouser didn't move a muscle as he watched the floor near Fafhrd's door. It was a slow, fluid-like, and almost indeterminate movement. In addition, the hall smelled like flowers. Roses?

The opening of Fafhrd's door startled him and the light from within the room allowed him to see wisps of fog swirl in the sudden disturbance. Curiously, the fog-like mist came from the other direction and only extended into the barbarian's room. As the big man came out, the foggy tendrils followed. Fafhrd turned to his right, away from Mouser, and started walking as if sleepwalking.

Mouser followed, corridor by corridor, through the silent palace, and finally up the spiral stair of a tower. All the while, he considered waking his friend, but he was concerned that it might be dangerous to wake him if he was sleepwalking or under a curse and even more dangerous still if he wasn't. Therefore, Mouser crept along silently, watching and waiting.

Following far enough back that he was barely able to see his friend around the curve of the spiral stair, Mouser stopped just in time as Fafhrd halted. A light from a door lit the little landing where Fafhrd stood, casting a large shadow of the big man on the curved outer wall. A second shadow appeared, and the two met, as if kissing, then the larger shadow disappeared as Fafhrd stepped into the room.

Mouser hesitated, not sure what to do, but the choice was suddenly taken away from him as Grell, wearing a pink, gossamer-like gown, stepped out on the landing and peered down at him as she removed her mask.

~F&tGM~

Knocking and the call of "Wake up, little man!" roused Mouser from a troubled sleep. Mouser was in his guestroom bed but he remembered nothing else of the night after seeing Grell reaching for her mask making him wonder if it was real or a dream?

Immediately after breakfast, they were escorted to the same chamber where they'd met Grell the afternoon before. Mouser felt a great sense of foreboding throughout, but Fafhrd seemed happy, even chipper, if such an emotion might be bestowed on such a big man. The little thief hoped to be able to speak with his friend, but when they arrived, Grell was already there.

She welcomed them but cut short the small talk, saying, "I have considered our discussion and have decided on a task suitable for your abilities and skills. Fafhrd was quite correct. We must open up the shipping lane to bring prosperity back to our fair city."

"So you want us to take out the pirates?" asked Mouser, somewhat preferring that to another bout with the sea monster.

"That would seem to be the more logical task since that route is shorter and since we don't know if the kraken creature will be willing to face us again after the beating we gave it last time," agreed Fafhrd with a grin.

Grell's smile was full as she looked back and forth between the two men. "Gentlemen, while that might be a reasonable assignment, your scope is far too limited. No, I have a somewhat more daunting task for the two of you." She held off, as if relishing the thought for a moment as they both looked on inquiringly.

"No, gentlemen, your task is not to slay a few pirates or even a sea monster. Your task, my friends, is to visit my old family home, a supposedly haunted manor castle on Smarndon Island overlooking the strait and retrieve an old family heirloom from my brother."

"Your brother?" asked Fafhrd.

"Yeah, who's your brother and what does he do?" echoed Mouser.

"I'm sorry. I thought you knew. Grollar, the man who formerly held my position as court wizard."

"But that man was old, ancient even," said Fafhrd, "far too old to be your brother."

She smiled. "Thank you for the compliment but in truth, we were twins. The magic took his youth, much as it affected me." She turned away so they could only see the youthful, beautiful side of her face in profile.

Wizards aren't exactly known for being friendly or generous with their possessions, thought Mouser. Aloud, he said, "What if he objects to our little 'retrieval'?"

"Mister Mouser, I must say that your inquiry does call into question whether you are the right person for this task. However, since I've had no other options and see no better ones in the offing, then I will answer. If he objects, that means that you have failed in your task and he has discovered your mission. In that case, your only option will be—if you don't wish to die yourselves—to kill him."

~F&tGM~

Several days were spent planning the mission to the twins' ancestral manor high atop the cliff overlooking Smarndon Strait. Grell answered question after question, suggested a way into the old stone fortress house, and even suggested a list of possible distractions that might help make the plan work. She also supplied floor plans of the home, though she warned that Grollar might have made changes since she'd last been there some years before. She marked potential hiding places and possible routes one might use to infiltrate the massive home.

She described the helmet as being bronze with a horizontal slot for the eyes, and a wider vertical slot for nose, mouth, and chin. It was covered with intricate markings.

"So what does it do?" asked Mouser.

"Do? It belonged to our father so it calls out to my sense of family."

Mouser laughed. "That doesn't explain how it might help clear the sea lane."

"Ah, yes, there is that. You could kill the pirates who are here now, but others will come in the future. With the helmet, which once belonged to the King of the Pirates, Ool Hrusp will be able to order the pirates away, now and always."

Mouser wasn't sure he believed her explanation, but Fafhrd seemed perfectly happy with it and accepted the mission without question.

The little thief was also concerned about Grollar's abilities.

"My brother has specialized in combining aspects of creatures. The kraken you battled was not a natural creature. It was, almost certainly, a result of his experiments and his study of gigantism. Since childhood, he has created new creatures and then caused extraordinary, rapid growth, but he has always been disappointed that his creations have been limited. His desire has been to create armored creatures, but his magic only extends to the organic. Inorganic items like iron and steel that he would use to make his creatures invincible do not have the ability to grow and morph with his growing creations. Can you imagine the kraken with steel tipped limbs? Perhaps we should thank the gods that there are some limitations on what magic can do."

For the next three nights, Mouser watched carefully as his friend made the walk to the tower room and each of the next three mornings, the little man awoke in his bed wondering if what he'd seen was dream or reality. And each of the next three days, Mouser became more and more concerned that his friend was falling further and further under the sorceress' spell.

~F&tGM~

Therefore, with their plan in place and Mouser watching Fafhrd closely, they shoved off in a little sailboat shortly after dark and made their way across the Smarndon Strait without encountering pirates, sea monsters, or wizards.

They tied their sailboat off to a tree in a small inlet and made their way along the coast for a mile or so until they came to the rocky cliff that Grell had described. With the tide low according to their plan, they walked along the narrow shelf through waist-deep water to a small cave that Grell said would be under water at high tide.

Inside the cave, they discovered that it was not entirely natural, but rather parts were cut into the solid stone. After lighting a torch, they saw the large iron grate they were expecting about twenty feet in front of them. In addition, there were three round wood circles, as if cross sections of a tree trunk, set flush with the face of each sidewall at floor level near the grating. The floor itself was wet but clean, swept daily by the moving tides, but there were two concentric circles inscribed in the floor with arrows pointing inward from the larger outer circle to the smaller inner one.

_"The grate is massive so you'll have to lift it, Fafhrd, to allow your little friend to slip under it."_

_"Why do I have to slip under it?" complained Mouser. "Fafhrd can lift it, I'll put a big stone under it, and then he can climb under it."_

_Grell had shaken her head. "However you wish, but Fafhrd is far too large to climb up the flush pipe to reach the manor on the cliff above. It will be a tight fit for even you, Mouser, but I'm sure you can do it."_

_"Wait! Flush pipe? You mean like a sewer pipe?"_

_She'd laughed. "Not_ like _a sewer pipe. That's exactly what it is, though it doubles as a trash chute for food, too. However, if Grollar continues past tradition, it is only used once a day at high tide. Due to the slope and volume of the flush, the pipe remains quite clean. By relative standards, anyway."_

Still, after much discussion and objection, it was determined that it would be the easiest way to sneak Mouser into the manor. Fafhrd would then climb the long and winding trail to the manor where he would knock on the front door and pay the sorcerer a visit. With his skills with music and his knowledge of literature, Grell felt her brother would welcome the visit. Fafhrd would keep the man busy while Mouser used his skills at stealth to find and retrieve the helmet and then slip back down the pipe with it.

Fafhrd, carrying a big log he planned to put under the grate so he'd only have to lift it once, moved forward to set it down as Mouser put down his equipment. Fuming at the need, the little man tied his bag of supplies around his ankle.

The boom of the log landing on the floor was magnified several times by an explosion that threw Mouser backward and made his ears ring. When he sat up, he saw several snakes sliding out of three holes on either side of the cave. As he drew Scalpel and slashed at the first, he realized that the wood must have been covering the holes. Cat's Claw, his dagger, skewered a snake's head on the left and Scalpel was still in motion when it beheaded a third.

"Fafhrd!" called Mouser, not seeing his friend as he pinned another of the snakes with his sword and then used his dagger to slash through it. "Where are you?"

Turning to take on the remaining snakes on his left, Mouser's foot connected with a small wood club on the floor. Not knowing where it had come from but not caring either, the little man edged his toes under it and then kicked forward sharply, throwing the club against a cobra launching itself toward him. The stick knocked the snake to the side, causing it to miss, but Cat's Claw didn't, cutting through the snake and its frill.

"Watch out, Mouser!" came a distant, pained cry from Fafhrd.

The little thief whirled with his sword and dagger in front of him, allowing him to slice through the third snake on the right as it too tried a strike at him. Scalpel stabbed down and pinned the last snake to the floor, and Mouser used his dagger to dispatch it.

Looking back toward the entrance, Mouser called out once more, "Fafhrd, where are you?"

This time, the distant cry clearly came from behind him, but when he looked back he only saw the grate and a stack of Fafhrd's equipment scattered on the floor in front of it. Several tiny wooden disks were also lying on the floor in front of the holes; the log-like sections were nowhere to be seen.

"Mouser! Down here!" came another call.

When the little man looked back, his eyes grew wide when he saw a perfectly formed but tiny version of his big friend standing up in the midst of the equipment pile.

"The explosion! I think it was a glyph. I set it off and it shrank me," called out Fafhrd with a high pitched cry.

Mouser's hand covered his mouth as much to keep from laughing as from the horror he was feeling at his friend's predicament. The tiny man was perhaps 20-inches high and was wearing perfectly sized clothes, though he was holding up his pants since he had no belt, and no boots nor weapons.

"Grell said that her brother worked with gigantism magic to create the kraken," called the squeaky voice. "One who experiments with gigantism might wish to know reduction magic, too, to deal with any oversized problems he creates."

Mouser nodded. "She also said her brother's spells only affected organic matter. Your belt and weapons didn't shrink with you?"

"No. The belt did, but the buckle didn't and broke it. The nails in the soles of my boots did the same for them as the leather and wood shrank and the nails didn't. And I'll never get to use Graywand or Heartseeker again."

Mouser cut a cord and handed it to Fafhrd, who used it to tie up his pants. The thief then flipped Cat's Claw around and handed it down to the tiny man. "This looks like it would be about the size of Graywand if you were full size."

Fafhrd used both hands on the dagger and set to using it like a two-handed sword. "Usable, yes, though the handle is huge!"

Mouser laughed. "It appears this mission is bust. There's no way we'll get the grate open. Say, the blast shrank that big log—"

"And the cut log sections that kept the snakes in their holes."

"We will need to see if Grell can restore you to your natural state, or if we'll have to journey to find our dark friends to have them do it."

Fafhrd glanced at Graywand and then sat on its crossguard as a seat as he used his Cat's Claw sword to fashion some makeshift sandals from the remains of his shrunken boots. He was about to stand up when he looked closely at the grating.

"Mouser? I think it possible that I might be able to squeeze through those narrow slots."

The Gray Mouser huffed. "What good would that do? Our mission is blown. We need to go before we get in any deeper."

Fafhrd's tiny head shook. "No, my friend. If I can get through this, our mission proceeds. We'll just need to make some changes in our plans."

~F&tGM~

Tiny Fafhrd was climbing the flush pipe much like a mountain climber going up a natural chimney in the rock. His hands and feet were on one side of the pipe while his back was pressed against the opposite side.

Unfortunately, he was too small to do this correctly so each step upward was painful as he eased off and then had to move his back up a bit. For his relative size, it seemed like feet, but due to his magically reduced scale, it was actually only inches. He tried to put that thought out of his mind as he kept moving upward.

Looking up, he could see a light far above him.

Far, far above.

~F&tGM~

Instead of climbing the pipe, sneaking around, finding the helm, and escaping, the Gray Mouser was climbing the trail to the manor house atop the cliff, all the while wondering what he was going to do to serve as a distraction in Fafhrd's place when he got there.

He'd carried Fafhrd's sword and supplies back to the sailboat and investigated the little cargo hold only to find some odd-and-ends, a few coils of rope, and a couple of old pots. Not thinking he could pull off being a peddler with that lot, he initially thought he might try impersonating a version of Fafhrd, but his singing voice wasn't up to it and if the sorcerer asked him to read anything other than basic Lankhmarese, he would be exposed. Therefore, he assumed the identities of one person after another as he walked up the path, abandoning each in turn. He was almost to the front door of the fortified manor house when he finally had to settle on one.

~F&tGM~

On reaching the top, Fafhrd rolled over on his back and rested for a few moments before pulling himself up. He was in a room at the bottom of the manor, so, after a quick bath in a bucket of water, he silently padded toward the door only to realize he couldn't reach the handle. Raising his arm to judge the relative heights, he ran toward the door from several feet away, hit the door with one foot and jumped up to grab the knob.

Hanging from the handle with both hands, he discovered another problem. One must pull or push a door when operating its handle to open it. Swinging a foot to the side, he pushed on the wall and the door slowly swung open toward him.

At the top of the first stair, Fafhrd heard voices. Grell had said there would be a small army of retainers and guards in the manor, so he slid into the space behind a chest to hide. Once it appeared clear again, he sprinted down the hall, his footsteps making little pattering sounds barely louder than those of a baby. Fafhrd winced at the thought.

Still, the sound almost gave him away when he had to take refuge in a side room. He hid behind a tapestry when he heard someone searching.

"Come out, rat! I'm gonna' getcha!"

An old woman holding a broomstick jerked the thick tapestry away from the wall and slammed the stick down hard at the floor where Fafhrd had been standing only moments before.

"I coulda' sworn," she said as she dropped the cloth and moved on.

Fafhrd waited a few moments and then slid down the cloth from the spot where he'd climbed just in time before her attack.

I must be more careful. Mouser's stealthy ways really may not be for me.

After that, he moved more slowly, more cautiously, all-the-while wondering how his now-bigger friend was getting along.

~F&tGM~

Two guards ushered Mouser into a reception room off the main entry hall in the huge manor. They stood outside the door when Grollar arrived.

"Count Grollar, thank you for seeing me, sir. My name is Mouser. You probably don't remember me but a friend and I entertained the duke for a season in Ool Hrusp some years ago."

The ancient looking man nodded. "Of course I remember, the play actors with the ridiculous affinity for blood. You two kept the servants quite busy cleaning up after you. My mind isn't nearly as old as this body."

"You honor me, sir." Mouser bowed similar to what he expected Fafhrd would have done.

"So why do you come to see me now?" asked the sorcerer. "After being pushed out by the duke and my sister, I am not exactly on good terms with those of Ool Hrusp."

"Exactly, Sire, but that's what I'm here to see about changing. See, the duke's madness lingers and intensifies, meaning that the situation in the land worsens over time. If you don't mind me being discreet, let's just say there are certain elements that might like your help in doing something about it, elements that would be willing to make it well worth your while in payment...and power."

A wizened smile crossed the man's face. "The idea has...ah, some degree of merit. But you see, I already have great wealth and power here. What makes you think I need to do more to gain it there?"

It was Mouser's turn to slowly smile as he imagined Fafhrd's reply to the question. Looking at the sorcerer, Mouser said, "Sire, I don't think you need to do anything. I only ask the question: why can't you have both?"

~F&tGM~

Fafhrd was finding that, at his current height, climbing the tall steps in the tower was a chore. Each step was about half of his current height so it was necessary to pull himself up, stand up, and then do it all over again, while looking for anyone approaching from either direction. In addition, because of the risk of discovery, he had to do it as fast as he could.

Grell said that their father always kept the helmet in a locked chest in the tower overlooking Smarndon Strait. Since her brother was a creature of habit, she suspected it would still be kept in the same spot. She'd given them a copy of the key.

When he finally reached the tower room, Fafhrd was feeling quite tired. His small size didn't agree with him in the least, but he had to push himself to find the helm. He was worried that Mouser would have a difficult time keeping the sorcerer occupied and the man might enter the tower at any time. What he didn't count on was the cat.

The movement was sudden, so he barely had time to dodge as he tried to bring Cat's Claw up to the ready. The real cat's claw struck in twice as the tiny barbarian tried to maneuver the dagger's log-like handle to keep the blade between them. A third strike snagged Fafhrd's tiny cotton shirt, slicing through it and leaving a thin line of blood on his side.

"Wait, creature! My friend is a patron of your kind, and we even have one of your distant relatives as a friend and fellow crewman aboard our ves—"

The cat struck again, unconcerned about patrons or relatives or anything other than its prey. Fafhrd, however, was quickly gaining experience with the unusually proportioned weapon; as the claws withdrew, the tiny man spun and stabbed, catching the paw as it practically rebounded toward him. With the dagger's point striking the center of its paw, the cat snarled in surprise and leapt away.

With the danger having retreated, Fafhrd moved to the chest right where Grell had indicated. The little man removed his backpack and pulled the key out of his bag. Raising it to his shoulder height, he used both hands to keep it steady as he pushed it into the lock. Grabbing the protruding hollow bow, he put a hand on each side and pushed up and pulled down to make it turn.

With the chest unlocked, he found that he couldn't lift the lid, so he pulled his tiny rope from the backpack, tied one end to the key still in the lock, and threw the other over the chest. Moving to the rear of the chest, he pulled the lid up.

Climbing into the chest, he was disappointed to see that the helmet wasn't there. Instead, there were rows of tiny bottles.

Glancing at the bottles, they appeared, based on their names, to be magical potions. He read the names as quickly as he could and picked three to put in his little backpack. It only held two, so he left the third behind. There was also a bag of coins, so he added them to fill the spaces of his pack.

He was about to exit the chest when he saw the helm, sitting on a counter in front of the window overlooking the strait. On climbing up, his thought of dropping the helmet out the window was discarded when he found there was no way to open it.

The helmet's appearance wasn't what he expected. There were no symbols of pirates or other such raiders. Instead, there was an eye in the middle of the forehead section, etchings of beasts around the face opening and perimeter, and writing using letters and symbols Fafhrd believed he'd only seen in a couple of ancient manuscripts.

Sensing his distraction, the cat jumped on the counter and lay down eyeing him, as if ready to pounce, its tail twitching, so Fafhrd repositioned himself so he could see the helmet while keeping the cat in front of him. "Shoo, cat! I don't seek to hurt you, but I won't put up with your nonsense."

Unfortunately, the back of the helmet wasn't as interesting as the front so, with some difficulty, he turned it around so he could see the front along with the cat.

The more he looked at it, the more he was convinced that it had nothing to do with pirates but something important to do with the creatures that decorated it. He finally decided that he would have to put it on to see if he could figure it out.

Unfortunately, the helmet was much too large for the tiny man to put on so he tilted it back, giving one last look at the cat, and then sat down cross legged in front of it. When he was in position, he struggled to tilt it back up so it would cover him.

It was a tight fit so he was hunched over but he felt nothing out of the ordinary other than the cramped confinement. He looked up at the interior of the helmet and then turned his head the other way but again saw nothing other than the inside of an old helmet.

He was about to push it up and off of himself when the cat decided to attack again, darting forward to strike at the little man in the helmet with one paw. As he did, Fafhrd looked out at the cat but couldn't focus. It was as if he was looking at an old helmet in front of a window in a situation markedly similar to his own. Suddenly his vision saw the black paw shoot out again but this time from his right as if to swat the helmet.

The tiny barbarian recoiled at the image, saying "No!" as he raised his hands in front of himself since, from what he could tell, he was seeing himself in the helmet being attacked from through the cat's eyes. Rather than being struck, though, the vision seemed to stop and draw back slightly.

Fafhrd hesitated for a moment, much like the cat. He thought, Cat? If you hear me, go away and leave the little man in the helmet alone.

The image in Fafhrd's vision was of turning away and running toward the door. As the cat started running down the stair, Fafhrd tipped the helmet up and the image faded, only to be replaced by his regular view from the counter. He immediately jumped up and looked at the helmet again, searching through the lineup of beasts etched in the bronze. Then his eye settled on an image he hadn't seen the first time. He sat back down and tipped the helmet down on himself once more.

~F&tGM~

"So who is my potential ally in the city?"

"Sire," replied Mouser, "you know that such identities cannot be easily exposed at the outset of such negotiations before some level of trust has been established. Let us stipulate that the petitioner seeking your alliance is...shall we say, reasonably positioned?...within the Duke's governing circle and capable of taking advantage of a governing situation. Should, of course, one happen to arise."

"Then perhaps we should get to know each other over lunch to establish that trust so we can get into serious discussions in a little while."

~F&tGM~

It took a few moments but Fafhrd's vision changed. It was dark and murky, making him feel even more confined than the helmet already did. A dull glow could be seen somewhere above, and below was only blackness. Considering his experience with the cat, he concentrated and thought, "Up!"

The vision changed with the glow becoming brighter and the murk transitioning to green then blue. At last, it changed to blue sky and the sun overhead. Fafhrd was smiling to himself as he again concentrated and sent a series of thoughts to the creature.

~F&tGM~

The Gray Mouser dreaded trying to continue the "negotiations" after the meal was over since he had no idea which of the duke's inner circle his supposed petitioner should be. He finally settled on a name he'd heard, hoping that the man wasn't already secretly allied with the count, as he started fabricating the story in his mind.

~F&tGM~

Fafhrd considered breaking the glass so he could push the helmet out to fall into the water below, but that would attract attention and might not allow him to recover the helmet either, so he had to come up with another option.

Opening drawers and containers, he quickly formulated a list of possible assets. Concerned about potentially being discovered at any time, he quickly made a decision and went to work.

~F&tGM~

The old woman with the broom was sweeping the hall when she heard the sound. It was similar to sounds she'd heard periodically in the supposedly haunted manor for many years, but as she turned the corner, she saw for the first time what she'd always believed was a fairy tale. She caught her breath as she saw the small, swaying ghost. It was remarkably short and wide but its arm-like appendages swung her way as it called out, "Oooo-ooo-ooooah!" and advanced toward her.

Throwing down her broom in fright, she turned and ran as fast her ancient legs would carry her.

Fafhrd dropped the candles he was holding and pulled the tablecloth from over him as he tipped the wobbly helmet off of his head. It had been almost all he could do to keep it stable with his elbows as he waved the candles to act as the ghost's arms. Spreading the cloth out, he pushed the helmet into the center of it, and then threw one part over the top. He gathered four points of the cloth in his hands so it acted as a sort of bag and then started sprinting the short distance down the hall toward the stair to the lowest level with the bundle dragging behind him.

~F&tGM~

The meal was almost over when a shriek was heard from a distant part of the manor house.

"What is that old woman yelling about?" asked Grollar.

"Count, it's something about seeing a ghost," said one of the guards at the door.

"There are no ghosts in this manor. Mouser, wait here, I shall return shortly."

Once the count had left the room, Mouser finished his wine and stood up. Hoping that he'd given Fafhrd enough time, he went to the front hall and out the door, "Good day, fine sirs. I shall be returning tomorrow to conclude my negotiations with the count."

As soon as he was far enough down the trail to be out of sight from the manor house, he started to run.

~F&tGM~

At the stair, he jumped down each riser, with the bundle going "bump" as it fell down each step behind him. With the noise potentially attracting attention, he made a quick decision as he hoped there weren't any guards nearby.

"Oooo-ooo-ooooah! Oooo-ooo-ooooah!"

At the bottom of the stairs, Fafhrd adjusted the bundle and started running in silence with the bundle trailing behind him without making too much noise. He was almost back to the flush pipe room when he heard voices somewhere behind him. Entering the room and seeing nowhere to hide the helmet, he pushed the bundle down the pipe, and then slid in behind it.

~F&tGM~

The tide was rising when the Gray Mouser rushed into the cave. "Fafhrd! Where are you?"

"Hold, little man," came the big barbarian's almost booming voice.

"Fafhrd! You're big again! But naked!"

"Thanks to the sorcerer's stash of potions," said the big man trying to tie what looked like a tablecloth around his waist. "Unfortunately, unlike his spells, they only seem to work on the imbiber, leaving the poor fellow's clothes appropriate for a child's doll…if he'd thought to take them off before drinking the vile medicine."

Mouser chuckled at his friend's predicament, but then added, "Quick, the water is rising. We must escape and get to the sailboat before we have to swim."

They'd made it about half way across the strait heading to the mainland when they say sails heading their way. As it neared, Mouse said, "It's flying a pirate flag. They're gaining on us."

Surprisingly, Fafhrd wasn't watching the pirate vessel; he was looking in the other direction. "There! I didn't think we'd have to worry about the pirates."

Mouser looked but saw nothing where Fafhrd had been staring, so he turned back toward the pirate ship. "They're still gain—what?"

Large tentacles emerged from the water, catching high on the pirates' masts, suddenly pulling the ship sideways before flipping it over.

"It took the kraken a little longer to get here than I expected, but he knew to go after the big ship rather than us in the little boat. At least that's what I tried to tell him."

The ship was in the process of sinking as Mouser asked, "What if it comes after us after the pirate ship is gone?"

"We're still a little boat. As long as there aren't any other ships in the area, I suggested that it make its way to the deepest part of the western ocean and then avoid surface vessels in the future. If it doesn't forget, it should live out its days in the depths."

~F&tGM~

When they got back to Ool Hrusp that evening, they saw that the shipwrights had completed work on their little vessel. They purchased provisions and a new set of clothes for Fafhrd for which they paid out of the loot they'd stolen from Grollar's chest. They spoke with the lead shipwright, too, telling him they would be back shortly to pay for their repairs with plans to leave immediately.

"Don't worry," said the wright. "I'll be here."

~F&tGM~

After visiting their rooms to clean up and gather their belongings, they received a summons to meet with Countess Grell. When they entered the room where she awaited them, she was wearing a pale blue dress, a silver necklace, silver rings and earrings, and a silver tiara on her head. Her pale mask was in place, and her mouth was a thin line.

"You return to Ool Hrusp without notifying me. You bring good news, I trust?"

"Madame, you would not wish to see or smell us as we were following our efforts," replied Fafhrd. "Particularly since the flush pipe you suggested was put to good use."

She laughed. "Point taken. Perhaps I should be thanking you for your consideration rather than objecting to your lapse in decorum." Seeing the bag, she smiled. "So, you brought me the helmet."

Fafhrd nodded. "Indeed we did, after much effort to retrieve it." He pulled it out of the bag and placed it on the table before her as he added, "Unfortunately, it was damaged in our escape." He didn't mention how he'd deliberately dropped the heavy grate to crush it.

The visible portion of her face flared bright red in anger as she looked at the flattened shape. "No! It can't be! You idiots! How could you allow this to happen? I will have you arrested and thrown into the dungeon where you won't ever again see the light of day!"

Fafhrd glanced down at his fingernails as if unconcerned. "Yes, please do; call the guards. We will definitely need them and the duke's other advisors to help get to the bottom of this little conspiracy."

"What about the duke, Fafhrd? Should we have him on hand, too? Or do we just allow his advisors to bring him into it later after they have a firm grasp of the situation?"

"What are you talking about?" hissed Grell. "What conspiracy?"

"The one where you regain control of the helmet that allows you to control the sea monster and, thereby, the pirates. When the authorities find out how you planned to use the helmet to take over the shipping lanes and, most likely, the government, even the Mad Duke will understand and not trust you. Of course, they're both gone now so it won't matter anymore anyway."

On seeing that her gig was up, she said a phrase that made it feel to Mouser as if magic was in the air. This, he suddenly realized, must be the magical control phrase that would allow her to take control of Fafhrd and have him do whatever she'd programmed him to do during their nightly sessions.

However, as the Gray Mouser turned toward Fafhrd to shout out a warning to have him resist, he saw his vision being tinged with red and felt himself drawing Cat's Claw and advancing toward his friend. He tried to call out, but no words escaped his lips as he raised his hand with the dagger high in the air and stabbed down at the big man. Fafhrd turned just as he did, grabbing Mouser's hand and twisting it to send the knife flying. In a continuation of the move, he swung around and slugged Grell, hard, causing her to collapse to the floor.

Mouser squinched his eyes and shook his head as he slowly retook control of his body. "Fafhrd, I thought she'd taken you under her spell during your late night visits to her room."

"Nay, Mouser. My visits to her room were purely voluntary; however, the spell she cast each night to "enhance our pleasure," while seemingly quite effective, may have just been a placebo. They were apparently for ensnaring you instead."

"But she took over my mind, and with Cat's Claw in hand, I could have killed you."

"No, my friend. You would not do that voluntarily, so she had to keep control of your mind, probably with the tiara that I've never seen her wear before. In doing so, you fought as she would have you do, using the limited weaponry skills that she—who has devoted her life to sorcery—might possess."

"Is she dead?"

"Oh no, though she may have troubled dreams for a little while. It would be best if we were gone when she awakens, lest the headache she will doubtless have will make her more irritable and angry than she already was. Let us be on our way," he added, as he pushed his friend out into the hallway.

As they were exiting the palace, Mouser asked, "Fafhrd, what about our payment?"

"Fear not, Mouser." Looking to the guards at the gate, he called, "Good day to you, gentlemen."

When beyond their hearing, he whispered to his friend, "While you were regaining your senses, I took the liberty of taking our payment from among her lovely fingers and ears, the necklace about her fair neck, and the tiara from her head. Oh, and the mask from her face. Since she was so two-faced in our dealings, that seemed appropriate."

"What about payment for the repairs on our ship? The shipwright likely won't be willing to accept any of those for his work."

Fafhrd laughed. "Her coin purse in my pocket should be more than enough to pay the shipwright and bribe the guards to allow us a quick escape. I'll take care of that while you set the sails."

On arriving at the docks, Fafhrd gave a few coins to the harbormaster and then most of the rest of the bag to the shipwright, who turned a key in the lock and slid the chain from their vessel. Reaching into the little bag, Fafhrd pulled out two more coins and said, "For the chain and lock."

Glancing at their vessel, he saw the sails already filling with wind and Mouser pushing off. Fafhrd ran down the dock to the patrol vessel at the end. "Gentlemen, thank you for a wonderful stay in your fine city. Here's a token of our appreciation for your efforts."

He slung the bag, spilling the remaining coins across the deck. As the guards scrambled for the coins, Fafhrd bent down for a moment, securing the chain around the patrol ship's stanchion and to the dock, and then stepped across the deck of that vessel between the guards where he leapt to his own ship just passing by. Fafhrd was smiling as he waved goodbye to the happy guards, who waved back with coins in their hands.

Mouser was smiling, too, when he saw his big friend drop the lock's key into the water of the harbor as they sailed away.

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's Notes:_
> 
> _Thank you for reading this story. Your feedback will be greatly appreciated._
> 
> _In the story "The Circle Curse," Fritz Leiber wrote that, for a brief time early in their careers, Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser "served Lithquil, the Mad Duke of Ool Hrusp, devising for him sprightly mock-duels, simulated murders, and other entertainments." This story takes place about 9 to 10 years after those events._
> 
> _Ool Hrusp, one of the Eight Cities, was famous for its cattle._


	6. Story #6: The Man at the Table

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When the little rogue, the Gray Mouser, is accused of being, well, the Gray Mouser, to what lengths will he go to avoid being caught? Or was it the Gray Mouser at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _This story is written for the WA Mistaken Identity Challenge._
> 
> _Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written totally for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of Fafhrd, the Gray Mouser, and world of Nehwon is entirely my own. They remain the property of their respective owners._

Their boat, or little ship, as the Gray Mouser, the little thief, insisted on calling it, was docked near the end of the quay in Gnamph Nar, one of the smaller of the Eight Cities north of the Inner Sea. They'd sold their small cargo of hides and were debating what to take aboard next. The choice of cargo was largely driven by their choice of destination. Unfortunately, in looking at their map, most of the Eight Cities were crossed out as being too dangerous; their various infractions over the years, of one form or another, gave them a good hint as to how they might be received if they were to be recognized. Even Gnamph Nar had a question mark by it on the map.

"Mouser, we could sell the boat, make a profit on it, and not have to be concerned about explaining where we got it to any Lankhmarese naval vessels that happen by. Then, we sign on a real ship as crew to, say, Ithmar, or, maybe even, Lankhmar," argued Fafhrd, the huge barbarian from the north.

"But Fafhrd, our little _ship_ is like home to us, and we aren't at the mercy of some idiot sea captain who, when his ship weathers a squall, decides to pull into Klelg Nar or, gods forbid, Sarheenmar, to make repairs."

"Mouser, I like our boat and it may be home to you, but I prefer to be able to straighten out in my bunk and to have a bit more headroom in my cabin or bedroom." He rubbed his head where he'd most recently bumped it again before sighing. "Good point on the risks, but when we finally get back to Lankhmar, we won't constantly be looking over our shoulders for bounty hunters. After all, there's practically nobody in Lankhmar who isn't wanted for something. Besides, once we get back, we'll remember that the wine and the women there are better, too."

Mouser gave his friend a skeptical look. "Women are better there? I thought you said you got a date with that redhead we met earlier today."

"Better there, yes, but nothing was said about those here not being good enough. If you'd like, I'll see if Red can get you a date with one of her friends."

"Thanks, but no," replied Mouser, with a sigh of his own. "No, I think I'm going to visit that tavern just down the waterfront for a nice, relaxing evening." He reached in his trunk and pulled out a burgundy cloak, a leftover prop from a recent adventure.

"Not dressing like usual, Mouser?"

"No. With the chance of bounty hunters being here, no need to advertise our presence any more than necessary. It was risky enough earlier this afternoon."

"Well said. Be careful, my friend. And have a good evening."

"You, too, Fafhrd."

"Don't worry," replied the big man with a grin. "I plan to."

~F&tGM~

It was almost midnight but the tavern on the waterfront of Gnamph Nar was still raucous, rollicking even, as the patrons did those things common to that sort of establishment. Most ate and drank, and between bites, or sometimes even through them, they talked. Loudly. At times, songs were sung, though those more learned might consider it mostly shouting rather than actual singing. Some gambled, and as often happens where gambling occurs, arguments sometimes followed, with fights not being all that uncommon.

While men greatly outnumbered the women, there were a number of females in attendance. Many of the men made eyes, or more, with those of the opposite sex, but most not aimed toward so-called women of the evening were turned away in no uncertain terms, the sounds of resounding slaps being met by boisterous laughter from those nearby who were not on the receiving end of such indelicate attentions.

"You'll keep your hands to yourself, Vignor Bramstaed, if you don't want to lose still more of your fingers!" shouted Helgoot, the chief serving wench, after sloshing a good bit of his beer on his face and chest.

The big man roared in anger as he shot up from his stool, but the laughter of those around him in combination with seeing Helgoot's hand already having her dagger halfway out caused him to flash her a bawdy gesture with the fingers not taken by the snow lizard some years before. Throwing a nasty term her way, he retook his seat, leading to another round of laughter at his expense for the ineffectiveness of his responses.

The two men at the corner table in the back were unlike many in the place. While watching the exchange, they didn't laugh or shout. Instead, they sat silently, holding their mugs and watching the others react, their eyes shifting constantly from one person to the next, always seeking some advantage that they might use to get ahead. In fact, any advantage was welcome to them, and, in their eyes, no action was off limits.

Carther, the larger of the two and the nominal leader, was a dirty, balding man of about 40 years of age. His chest was barrel-like; what he lacked in speed, he generally made up for with strength. He wore a set of padded leather armor to provide some degree of protection from those who might attempt to defend themselves. The weapons strapped to the belt at his waist, assisted by a pair of straps that crossed over his shoulders and kept the rig from sliding down, appeared as well used as the worn armor.

Elbows on the table, the leader's right hand slowly rubbed his scruffy beard and mustache as he looked for a mark they could swindle, intimidate, or rob, or for a victim who wouldn't be missed, if need be. He'd dismissed Helgoot from the beginning as having too little coin to make dealing with her worthwhile and as having too shrill a voice that might easily attract unwanted attention. A similar argument could be made for the other serving ladies, so they were generally ignored except for the pleasing rewards of their more visible feminine charms.

Jervais, the smaller man was only an inch or so shorter and just a few years younger than the taller man, but he weighed about forty pounds less, being superior in speed to strength. Like his comrade, he was dressed in thick leather that served to provide some degree of protection from certain types of blows without being too tiring to the wearer. He carried a sword and dagger on the belt at his waist.

As the thinner man continued his watch, his eyes settling on four men at the table in the other rear corner hunched over a game of cards. While there were coins on the table, the risk didn't seem worthwhile, so his gaze continued to shift until something finally held his focus across at the center table in the room. He watched closely for several seconds and it was only when his left eye started to squint that his companion noticed.

"Got something, Jervais?"

"Maybe, Carther...maybe. Hmm...you remember Pigwit? He told me something today."

Carther laughed and took a drink. "Yeah. You still see that idiot? I'd take anything he told me with a grain of salt. A king-sized grain."

"Ordinarily I'd agree, but he was passing along something his cousin told him."

"Whoa! His cousin? Dogbreath? That guy's a lot smarter that Pigwit, but I avoid him like the plague."

"That's understandable. His body odor tends to unintentionally announce his arrival well before he gets to where he's going. Still, Pigwit told me that he was with Daugbert early this afternoon when they saw someone that Daugbert had seen before in Lankhmar. It was a guy who calls himself the Gray Mouser and—"

"Wait! The Gray Mouser? The one who's wanted in, like, half of the Eight Cities?"

Jervais nodded. "Exactly. That Gray Mouser. And guess what? From the description Pigwit gave me, that's got to be him, sitting right over there."

Carther snuck a look, and over the next couple of minutes, got in several more surreptitious glances. Turning to his comrade, he said, "You know, the idiot may have done good this time. Never seen him myself, but that looks just like the description of the Gray Mouser that I've heard. Let's go."

"Wait. Go where?"

"To capture him, of course. I've heard he's worth 500 gold orrins, dead or alive, to the duke of Klelg Nar, and I think King Rodrack of Sarheenmar has an even bigger reward offered for him. Something about stealing his wife, but I'm not sure about that one."

"Yeah, I heard about the reward, but you're crazy!" whispered Jervais, with an almost frightened look. "We can't take the Gray Mouser by ourselves! He's said to be the best swordsman in all of Nehwon."

"Best swordsman?" Carther laughed. "Who says that? Him, that's who! Just look at him. The guy spreads that drivel so people will be scared of him."

"I don't know, Carther. I, ah...well, I think we need some help."

"More help means splitting the reward more ways. Jerv, let's go."

"Uh-uh. Not by ourselves. If he's that good, I'd rather split the reward a few more ways than end up dead with no reward at all."

"Okay, chicken. Then let's go find some help. I saw Klelque and Jorbern down the street on my way here. They're morons, but they're pretty good with their swords and fists."

~F&tGM~

A few minutes later, Helgoot was serving more drinks at the rear table where the card game had just gone to another hand. At the same time, the little man at the center table was finishing his meal when he heard the swish of swords being drawn. He looked up to see two men, separated by a wide angle, standing in front of him with their swords out and pointed toward him. His eyes widened in response and his mouth opened to protest but Carther spoke in a loud voice. "Gray Mouser, you are surrounded. We arrest you in the name of Duke Toflil of Klelg Nar and claim the reward for your capture. Put down your weapons or we'll take ya' in dead."

"And still claim it," said someone from behind him.

This drew the look of most everyone in the tavern whose attention hadn't already been attracted by the drawing of swords. Several of those nearby drew back, giving plenty of room to those who might soon be fighting. Helgoot, waving to the other serving wenches to follow, scampered back to the bar as the tavernkeeper behind the counter looked on warily at what was playing out in the middle of his establishment.

The seated man's eyes grew wide as he looked Carther in the eyes. "Hold on, good sir!" he sputtered, looking markedly nervous. "Sir, sorry to say it but you must have me mistaken for someone else. I'm definitely not the person you mentioned, whatever that strange name was. See, my name is Wierguin Gadunkle—"

A round of laughter rose from all around, including those training their swords at him from just inches away.

"Who ever'd come up with such a goofy name for someone tryin' to avoid the bounty on his head?" snorted a man off to the side. There was more laughter as the one claiming to be Wierguin Gadunkle looked around unsteadily at him.

"I'll have you know my paps gave me my name when I was a babe in arms. Never got to really question 'em about it since they died when I was still young and I grew up with my aunt, my mam's sis."

Carther laughed at the little man. "So, Gray Mouser, you pretend to be someone else to throw us off your track, but it ain't gonna' work. We're takin' ya' in."

The man looked back at him with fear in his eyes. "No, sir! I'm not pretending to be anyone. I tell you, my name is Wierguin Gadunkle—"

Another round of laughter sounded.

"—but my friends call my Guinny."

This time the laughter drowned out whatever else Wierguin was trying to say. Biting his lower lip, he waved his hands trying to get them to calm down, but Carther finally spoke over him. "Well, _Guinny_ , you'd best throw down your sword and your dagger or we'll run you through before ya' have a chance to draw 'em."

"Whoa whoa whoa, sir! Mister whatever-your-name-is, I'm a, I'm a dye merchant. See the stains on my hands?" He held up his thumb and forefinger to show a reddish-purple color on the pad of each digit as his hand shook in fear. "My partner and I arrived here by caravan yesterday and spent the day today down in Clothmaker Square selling our goods. I don't have a bloody sword and I'm eating with my knife. You can't seriously believe that I'm some wanted man. I'll take you to my room and let you meet my partner. He'll tell you!"

Someone in the crowd laughed. "Partner? Doesn't the Gray Mouser usually travel with a giant?"

More laughter followed from around the room.

"No, Gray Mouser," replied Carther. "We're not letting you get anywhere near your giant friend. You'll be coming with us."

"No, please! What's it going to take to get it through that thick skull of yours that I'm not this Gray...Gray Mouser?"

Carther moved closer and placed the tip of his sword against Guinny Gadunkle's chest. "You best be careful flingin' insults little man, or this sword'll be poking out your back. But I'll tell ya', I'm a fair man and I don't want no mistake 'bout this. Now, you say you're a dye merchant. Tell me a little 'bout what brung ya' to Gnamph Nar."

~F&tGM~

At the rear table opposite Jervais and Carther's original seats, the gamblers had paused from their game to watch what was happening a few tables away. With most of the patrons having moved back, they now had a good view.

"You think that's that rapscallion, the Gray Mouser?" asked one man as Wierguin Gadunkle attempted to explain the intricacies of the dye trade to his captor.

"No idea," replied the second, "but I'll bet 5 gold coins they take him away as if they think he is."

"That's a lousy bet," claimed the third man, "considering they're already accusing him of it. You've got to give odds for something like that if you want any takers."

"Offer odds? Not on your life. If you're so all-fired certain they'll haul him off, you offer the odds and I'll think about betting the other way."

"A man after my own heart," laughed the fourth man, "who'd bet the odds rather than his true conviction about the situation."

"Not knowing anything about the guy and whoever he is or is supposed to be, I'm not convinced one way or the other," said number two. "What can you guys tell me about the Mouser guy?"

They looked at each other but only the first man seemed to be able to volunteer anything. "Well, I've heard he's a tiny little guy who's unequaled with handling a sword and is supposed to be equally good at charming the shirt off one's back. He's said to be great with the ladies, too. It's said he's been all around the Inner Sea, usually keeping company with a giant, like that guy said. They're supposed to basically cause trouble wherever they go. Probably all hogwash if you ask me, but that's just what I've heard."

"Ya' know, now that you mention it, I think I have heard of those two before after all," agreed number three. "If he's the crafty bastard I've heard, I suspect he'll find a way to get out without them taking him."

With lines being drawn at the table, bets were quickly made and the four men, keeping their cards hidden, went back to watching the showdown.

~F&tGM~

"Well, sounds like you do know a little 'bout the dye racket, though you coulda been lyin' through your teeth and I might not uv realized it." Carther's sword again drew near to the little man's chest. "That means we're gonna' take ya' in and let the duke sort'cha out."

"No, sir, please?" begged the man claiming to be Wierguin Gadunkle. "We're supposed to be leaving with the caravan in the morning to head toward Kvarch Nar."

"Yeah, you'll be leaving in the morning, all right, but I've got news for you, Gray Mouser, you'll not be goin' the way ya' planned." Carther practically sneered as he said the words. "No, Mr. Guinny Mouser, we're taking you to Klelg Nar for the reward!"

Fear was obvious on the little man's face as he stood staring at Carther. "Now wait just a moment, sir. If I'm supposed to be this, ah, Gray Mouser guy, tell me a little about, well, myself. Why would I be wanted in Klelg Nar? What was I supposed to have done there that's so bad that someone would pay gold for me?"

Carther started to speak but, knowing of the reward but not what it was for, he hemmed and hawed for several seconds before he nodded his head toward Jervais. "Jerv, you tell him."

Jervais shrugged his shoulders. "Hell if I know, Carther. All I heard was that the duke had the reward out for him for something or another."

The little man laughed, sounding relaxed for the first time since he'd been surrounded as he sat back down. He took a drink from his mug before looking back at Carther, for the first time with a look of determination that seemed to replace the fear he'd exhibited to that point. "So...you want to drag me, what? 150 miles or more to the east to Klelg Nar on some trumped up charge that may or not actually exist for a reward that may not even be real? Oh, I can tell that someone's put a great deal of thought into this plan."

"Where there's a reward at stake, don't have to be much of a plan as long as we can get you there. And I say we can. Even the great Gray Mouser can't take on four warriors by himself when he's already surrounded." Carther smiled as he nodded toward the little man.

Wierguin grinned at Carther. "So you say, but what happens when I refuse to go? What if you have to kill me to get me there? If you're lucky enough to do that, of course. After all, if I truly am the Gray Mouser, you'll most likely find me much harder to kill than you might suspect, even with your four to one odds. But let's hold off on that point for a moment. You seem to be overlooking the fact that you have nothing that proves I'm the Gray Mouser other than your guess, and you won't find any documents on me that prove that I am. If I truly am the Gray Mouser, I'm way too smart for that. That means, if you're going to get that reward, you'll really need to keep me alive to get me there for someone to identify me or else the duke will smile, say he's not sure the corpse you're presenting is actually me, and not pay you a single copper for all of your time."

"Ha! So you admit you're the Gray Mouser!"

"Well...not exactly. See, when you have bounty hunters after you, it really wouldn't be smart to admit it, would it? However, let's get back to your other point we skipped over a few moments ago. If I really am the Gray Mouser, what makes you think that I didn't anticipate that someone would recognize me? After all, I'm sitting all by myself at a table right out in the middle of the room, when all the smart people know you should sit with your back to a wall to be on the lookout for threats. That is, unless, of course, someone else is watching out for you." Wierguin, still seated, leaned across the table toward Carther. "Watching out...for me."

For the first time, Carther showed a bit of uncertainty before barking out a denial. "No! You're all by yourself."

The Gray Mouser laughed. "No, Carther. That is your name, right? Want to be sure so I can put it on your tombstone. See, even now, there are two men with their crossbows trained on two of you. Of course, since there are four of you, that means they'll only be able to kill two of you right away when I give the signal, but you won't know which two of you'll be dead. No! Don't look! If you start looking around for them, you ruin the surprise and I'll have to give the signal to fire. Two of you will be dead then, and, in the confusion that follows, I'll have to kill the other two of you, leaving the tavernkeep to clean up the bloody mess and dump your bodies in the harbor. It will be a terrible mess and ruin what I'd intended to be a relaxing evening away from all the usual death and mayhem. Of course, if that's the way you want it, I guess I'll have to oblige you, even against my own preferences."

Carther attempted to cast a surreptitious glance at the balcony above the covered three sides of the room, but he didn't spot anyone before Mouser said, "Now, now. I warned you about that."

"You're bluffing! You have to be!"

"Think so, eh?" The Mouser leaned back in his chair and took a long drink before continuing. "Well, I can tell you that I haven't gotten where I am in life without having some backup, having some pretty good luck, and having the ability to bluff. Problem is, you don't know which it is in this case. So, I'm going to give you a few seconds to think it over while I finish my ale before I give the signal to my men. If you're still here when I'm done...well, I'll make you a promise. If you're still here when I'm done, Carther, you'll be one of the two dead men."

"Jerv, you're really not sure about that reward?" asked Carther, looking and sounding increasingly nervous.

"Nah, Carther. I think it's true, but I can't swear to it," replied Jervais, who took a step backward.

"Mr. Mouser, we'll meet again someday," said Carther, also backing away so he was under the upper walkway and, he hoped, out of the line of fire of at least one of the crossbowmen, if they were really there. Jervais and the other two did the same, and then turned and escaped out the tavern's front door.

When they were gone, the Gray Mouser received a round of applause from the other patrons, to which he waved and smiled. He drained the rest of his ale and, moments later, got up to leave.

"Gentlemen, I'm going out this back door, but if you have any thoughts of following me, I have two more men stationed just down the alley, and my crossbowmen will remain in place for a few minutes to guard my retreat. I'd advise you against trying anything. Good night."

With that, he stepped out the back door and closed it behind him.

~F&tGM~

At the gamblers' table, the bets were paid off and the first man thanked the other players for an interesting game and evening. "I've got to call it quits since I'm on my way out of town tomorrow, too, but I guess we should remember this day, gents. After all, it's not every day one gets to be entertained by the infamous Gray Mouser."

When he stood up from the table, they didn't notice that he was only slightly bigger than the one known as the Gray Mouser. Having already searched the two sides he could see, the man didn't bother to look up at the upstairs walkways around the main tavern area for the crossbowmen before he moved to the back door and slipped out, just as the Gray Mouser had done less than a minute before.

Once outside, the gambler saw in what little light was available that the alley ran left to right. He looked both ways but saw nothing and heard only the sounds of the water in front of the building and the usual noises of a city at night. He was about to head to the right, but a brief clatter to his left led him to go in that direction instead.

He'd passed behind what he believed to be two buildings when the alley ended in a tee, intersecting another narrow lane. He was about to turn left to head back to the waterfront when he felt something brush against his leg.

"Meow."

The sound was soft and low, so he crouched down and scratched the little cat behind the ears. The little creature turned and rubbed itself against the gambler's hand, its tail trailing between his thumb and forefinger.

He rose up and moved just a few feet toward the bay when a pair of torches carried by at least two men entered the end of the alley. There was shouting and a mad scramble as someone turned and ran back down the alley toward him. Backlit by the torches, the gambler saw the silhouette of someone moving quickly but tripping over the trash and debris that littered the way.

As the person approached him, the gambler heard Carther's voice ring out, "Gray Mouser! I told ya' we'd meet again. It's time!"

The gambler took advantage of the approaching torchlight to slip into the darker shadows cast behind a couple of broken crates against the building on the left side of the alley. He saw the little man approaching, stumbling along as he tried to go too quickly over the things that littered the alley.

The gambler's right foot served to trip the Gray Mouser and bring him to the ground. As he landed, Mouser felt himself pulled to the side of the alley behind the crates.

"Quiet, if you want to live," whispered the gambler. "Quick, give me your cloak."

"We're coming for ya', Mouser!"

With Carther almost to the crates and the torch shedding more light, the gambler stood up wearing the little man's cloak, with a rapier in his right hand and a slightly curved dagger in his left. He knocked the top crate over in Carther's way and stepped forward to say, "Carther, I tried to let you live earlier, but now I'm giving you three seconds to run away or I'll run you through like you threatened me earlier. Two! One!"

Jorbern, no longer seeing the chance of easy money versus a well armed man, decided to take the Gray Mouser's advice. He turned and ran, taking one of the torches with him. Not quite as bright as Jorbern but a good lackey, Klelque decided to follow his friend's lead and he quickly followed.

Carther, however, rushed forward to the attack, with Jervais just behind, so the man dressed as the Gray Mouser stepped back, using the broken crates to allow only one to engage him at a time. Carther tried to use force to drive the gambler back, but he found his opponent was too good and too fast. The dagger in the man's left hand sliced his arm as his powerful thrust was deflected by the smaller man's rapier. His thick leather bracer limited the damage, but the pain and the realization that the Gray Mouser was a very skilled opponent led Carther to curse.

Jervais, who carried the torch, held it high so Carther could see, but he quickly saw that his partner was outclassed. With his nerves frayed, he called out, "Come on, Carther! Let's get out of here!"

"Not without my bounty on that little bastard!" replied Carther as he blocked Mouser's thrust and then tried a rapid slash and reverse of his own. "Or, if I can't have the bounty, I'll take the miserable bum's head!"

The Gray Mouser's sword again deflected the path of Carther's blow, and he drove the pommel of his dagger into the man's jaw.

Carther reeled back in pain only to feel the dagger's blade penetrate through his protective leather and slice over a couple of ribs. He was in pain as he continued the fight, but he laughed at how ineffective the little man's cuts had been. Sure he'd be able to wear the little man down over time and take him, Carther tried to grab his opponent, but continued being forced to draw back after suffering several more slashes and scratches.

"Jerv! Help me!" cried Carther, as he pushed forward, only to find himself stumbling as his own weapons' harness that fell down around his feet. He was falling to the ground when he realized that the Gray Mouser's slashes hadn't been ineffective after all. The burly man tried to get back to his feet but a blow from the pommel of Mouser's rapier put an end to his effort.

Jervais, seeing an opening, hesitated. "Are you going to kill him?" he asked, holding his sword in one hand and the torch in the other.

The Gray Mouser looked at Jervais and said, "That depends on you. If you attack, I'll have no choice to finish him off before I deal with you. However, if you run away, he should survive to see the sun rise. Oh, and leave the torch as you go."

Jervais looked at Mouser for a few seconds before nodding. He slowly backed away and put the torch down on the ground before turning and leaving.

Reaching into his pocket, the gambler pulled out a cord and tied Carther's hands behind his back and then tied his feet, drawing the two bindings together like a hog tie. He picked up the torch and walked back behind the crates.

Wierguin Gadunkle looked up at the man who'd saved him from where he was crouched. "You're the Gray Mouser, the one they wanted. I'm sorry I had to steal your identity."

The Gray Mouser laughed. "I think it would be more appropriate to say they forced it on you. I was hoping you'd get away and that would be the end of it, since the tale would have been told for years in the tavern of how the Gray Mouser had faced down four men. Fafhrd would have had a great laugh when I told him your tale, too, but when they caught up to you, I had to go to work to, ahem, preserve my reputation." Mouser grinned.

Guinny nodded. "Thanks for saving me. What about our cloaks and what about him?"

"Best you keep that one, so there are no more mistakes as to your identity as you make your way tonight. I'd advise you to get out of town soon, too. As for him…"

~F&tGM~

Several things happened early the next morning.

A cutter boat was reported to have sailed out of Gnamph Nar harbor sometime during the night. This was only known because its spot along the pier was empty when the harbormaster's assistant made his morning round.

The door to a warehouse at the side of the waterfront was found open, with the lock apparently picked. The warehouse guard, who must have been asleep when it happened, wasn't sure if anything had been taken, though he believed a few crates and kegs might have been missing. He relocked the door, moved a few things around to make the area still look full, and never reported the incident.

A small crowd gathered in front of the fish scale near the harbormaster's office and had a hearty laugh. Instead of a large fish suspended from the line, a man with his hands and feet tied hung upside down from the hook. He wore no trousers and only had on a very dirty undershirt. While a number of cuts were bound, he was still covered in dried blood and filth, and had a number of bruises as if he'd been dragged, not too carefully, to the scale. Half of the man's beard and mustache were also missing. Despite his efforts, the gag in his mouth kept him from calling out, but his struggles caused him to slowly rotate on the hook, making it a bit difficult to read the sign pinned to the back of his shirt.

This is Carther,  
a nasty man who irritated the Gray Mouser.  
Don't be like Carther.

Wierguin Gadunkle, his dye merchant partner, and their small caravan left Gnamph Nar for Kvarch Nar at sunrise. As he recalled his adventure of just hours before, he smiled, rubbing the soft fabric of his new cloak. As the sun rose and he got a good look at its burgundy cloth in the natural light, he studied the color, trying to figure out how he might develop a dye to reproduce it.

~F&tGM~

With the gentle rocking of the boat on the waves, Fafhrd awoke with a bad hangover and the glint of a pair of eyes looking at him.

"Good morning, Demon-cat, I think Miss Red may have been one of your relatives. It feels as if she had claws, anyway." Stretching as well as he could in the conditions, he climbed out of the bunk and made his way up the little stair and onto the deck.

"Mouser, what's going on? Why the early start?"

The Gray Mouser smiled at his friend. "I'll tell you the tale, but as for the early start, let's just say we might want to consider that an 'x' on the map over Gnamph Nar in place of the question mark for the next few months."

_The End_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Author's Notes:_
> 
> _Thank you for reading this story. Any feedback you might provide will be greatly appreciated._
> 
> _Located midway between Kvarch Nar and Klelg Nar on the northern edge of the Inner Sea, Gnamph Nar was one of the smallest and least influential of the Eight Cities, being overshadowed by its neighbors._


End file.
